THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


THE 


OF 


LOS 


UNIVERSITY 
CALIFORNIA 

ANGELES 


NJ 


POPULAR,  NOVELS. 

By  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes. 

I. — TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE. 
II.— ENGLISH  ORPHANS. 
III. — HOMESTEAD  ON  THE  HILLSIDE. 
IV.— LENA  RITERS. 
V. — MEADOW  BROOK. 
VI. — DORA  DEANE. 
VII.— COOSIN  MAUDE. 
VIII.— MARIAN  GRAY. 

IX. — DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT. 
X — HUGH   WORTIIINGTON. 
XI. — CAMERON  PRIDE. 
XII. — ROSE  MATHER. 
XIII. — ETIIELYN'S  MISTAKE. 
XIV. — MILLBAKK. 
XV.— EDNA  BROWNING.      (New.) 


Mrs.  Holmes  is  a  peculiarly  pleasant  and  fascinating  writer. 
Her  books  are  always  entertaining,  and  she  has 
the  rare  faculty  of  enlisting  the  sympathy 
and  affections  of  her  readers,  and  of 
holding  their  attention  to  her 
pages  with  deep  and 
absorbing  inter 
est. 


All  published  uniform  with  this  volume.     Price  $1.50  each, 
and  sent  free  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price  by 

G.  W.  CARLETON   «fe   CO., 
New  York. 


MILLBANK; 


OR, 


ROGER    IRVING'S    WARD. 


BY 

MRS.  MARY  J.  HOLMES, 

AUTHOR   OF 

TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE. — 'LENA  RIVERS. — MARIAN  GREY. — MEADCW- 

BROOK.  —  ENGLISH  ORPHANS.  —  COUSIN  MAUDE.  —  HOMESTEAD. 

—  DORA  DEANE.  —  DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT.  —  HUGH 

WORTHINGTON.  — THE  CAMERON  PRIDE.  — R.OSE 

MATHER.  — ETHEL YN'S  MISTAKE.  — ETC. 

—  ETC. 


NEW    YORK: 

G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co.,  Publisher* 

LONDON:    S.    LOW,    SON    &   CO. 
M.DCCC.LXXII. 


Eubered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

DANIEL    HOLMES, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washiagtoe. 


PS 


TO 

GEORGE    W.    CARLETON,    ESQ., 

[WHOM   I  ESTEEM   SO   HIGHLY  AS   A 

PERSONAL  FRIEND  AND  PUBLISHER,] 

I  DEDICATE 
THIS   STORY  OF  MILLBANK. 

Brown  Cottage,  Brockfort,  ff.  Y., 
Afril,  1871. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGH 

I.  EXPECTING  ROGER 9 

II.  ROGER'S  STORY 19 

III.  WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK      .        .        .        .27 

IV.  THE  MORNING  OF  THE  FUNERAL        .         .      ~v  •-'.      33 
V.  THE  FUNERAL •    » :       .     41 

VI.  THE  EVENING  AFTER  THE  FUNERAL   ...         45 

VII.  MILLBANK  AFTER  THE  DAY  OF  THE  FUNERAL          .     55 

VIII.  THE  STRANGER  IN  BELVIDERE  .         .        -.         59 

IX.  A  STIR  AT  MILLBANK     ......     67 

X.  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK 74 

XI.  ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND  THE  RESULT        .        .        .85 
XII.  ALICE  GREY 92 

XIII.  A  RETROSPECT 104 

XIV.  IN  THE  EVENING 108 

XV.  ROGER  AND  FRANK         .        .        .        .        .        .no 

XVI.  LIFE  AT  MILLBANK 117 

XVII.  LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILLBANK 130 

XVIII.  THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE  GARRET   .        .        .        138 
XIX.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  TROUBLE          ....  146 

XX.  WHAT  MAGDALEN  FOUND  IN  THE  GARRET  .        .        156 
•     XXI.  FRANK  AND  THE  WILL   .         ...         .         .         .  162 

XXII.  MRS.  WALTER  SCOTT  AND  THE  WILL         .        .        172 

XXIII.  ROGER  AND  THE  WILL 178 

XXIV.  HESTER  AND  THE  WILL 186 

XXV.  MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER 198 

XXVI.  'SQUIRE  IRVING'S  LETTER 204 

XXVII.  JESSIE'S  LETTER      .......  208 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGK 

XXVIII.  THE  WORLD  AND  THE  WILL      .        .        -,        .       216 
XXIX.  POOR  MAGDA  .  ....  223 

XXX.  LEAVING  MILLBANK 227 

XXXI.  THE  HOME  IN  SCHODICK 236 

XXXII.  MAGDALEN'S  DECISION       .         ,        .         -        .241 

XXXIII.  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END         ....  253 

XXXIV.  MRS.  PENELOPE  SEYMOUR 253 

XXXV.  ALICE  AND  MAGDALEN 262 

XXXVI.  MR.  GREY  AND  MAGDALEN         ....       265 

XXXVII.  LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD  273 

XXXVIII.  THE  MYSTERY  AT  BEECHWOOD  ....       280 

XXXIX.  MAGDALEN  AND  THE  MYSTERY        .        ..        „        .  284 

XL.  A  GLIMMER  OF  LIGHT        .         .        .         .         -        293 

XLI.  MRS.  SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN       ....  298 

XLII.  IN  CINCINNATI 308 

XLIII.  IN  CYNTHIANA        .        .        .        .        .        .        .314 

XLIV.  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 320 

XLV.  AT  BEECHWOOD 325 

XLVI.  THE  CLOUDS  BREAK  OVER  BEECHWOOD        .        .       333 

XLVII.  BELL  BURLEIGH 337 

XLVIII.  THE    WEDDING,    AND   HESTER    FLOYD'S   ACCOUNT 

OF  IT 345 

XLIX.  HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MlLLBANK     ....  354 

L.  ROGER 362 

LI.  MAGDALEN  is  COMING  HOME  .  369 

LII.  MILLBANK  is  SOLD  AT  AUCTION          .  373 

LIU.  MAGDALEN  AT  ROGER'S  HOME        ....  37§ 

LIV.  ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN  ,        382 

LV.  MILLBANK  is  CLEAR  OF  ITS  OLD  TENANTS      .         .  388 

LVI.  THE  BRIDAL       . 391 

LVII.  CHRISTMAS-TIDE  .        .  395 


\ 


OR, 

ROGER  IRVING'S  WARD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

EXPECTING    ROGER. 

flVERY  window  and  shutter  at  Millbank  was  closed. 
Knots  of  crape  were  streaming  from  the  bell-knobs, 
and  al1  around  the  house  there  was  that  deep  hush  which 
only  the  presence  of  death  can  inspire.  Indoors  there  was  a 
kind  of  twilight  gloom  pervading  the  rooms,  and  the  servants 
spoke  in  whispers  whenever  they  came  near  the  chamber  where 
the  old  squire  lay  in  his  handsome  coffin,  waiting  the  arrival  of 
Roger,  who  had  been  in  St.  Louis  when  his  father  died,  and 
who  was  expected  home  on  the  night  when  our  story  opens. 
Squire  Irving  had  died  suddenly  in  the  act  of  writing  to  his 
boy  Roger,  and  when  found  by  old  Aleck,  his  hand  was  grasp 
ing  the  pen,  and  his  head  was  resting  on  the  letter  he  would 
never  finish.  "  Heart  disease  "  was  the  verdict  of  the  inquest, 
and  then  the  electric  wires  carried  the  news  of  his  decease  to 
Roger,  and  to  the  widow  of  the  squire's  eldest  son,  who  lived 
on  Lexington  avenue,  New  York,  and  who  always  called  her 
self  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  Irving,  fancying  that  in  some  way  the 
united  names  of  two  so  illustrious  authors  as  Irving  and  Scott 
shed  a  kind  of  literary  halo  upon  one  who  bore  them. 
1* 


10  EXPECTING  ROGER. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  Irving  had  been  breakfasting  in  her  back 
parlor  when  the  news  came  to  her  of  her  father-in-law's  sudden 
death,  and  to  say  that  she  was  both  astonished  and  shocked,  is 
only  to  do  her  justice,  but  to  insinuate  that  she  was  sorry,  is  quite 
another  thing.  She  was  not  sorry,  though  her  smooth  white 
brow  contracted  into  wrinkles,  and  she  tried  to  speak  very  sad- 
,  ly  and  sorrowfully  as  she  said  to  her  son  Frank,  a  boy  of  nine 
or  more,  — 

"  Frank,  your  grandfather  is  dead  ;  poor  man,  you'll  never 
see  him  again." 

Frank  was  sorry.  The  happiest  days  of  his  life  had  been 
spent  at  Millbank.  He  liked  the  house,  and  the  handsome 
grounds,  with  the  grand  old  woods  in  the  rear,  and  the  river  be 
yond^  where  in  a  little  sheltered  nook  lay  moored  the  boat  he 
called  his  own.  He  liked  the  spotted  pony  which  he  always 
rode.  He  liked  the  freedom  from  restraint  which  he  found  in 
the  country,  and  he  liked  the  old  man  who  was  so  kind  to 
him,  and  who  petted  him  sometimes  when  Roger  was  not  by. 
Roger  had  been  absent  on  the  occasion  of  Frank's  last  visit  to 
Millbank,  and  his  grandfather  had  taken  more  than  usual  notice 
of  him,  —  had  asked  him  many  questions  as  to  what  he  meant 
to  be  when  he  grew  to  manhood,  and  what  he  would  do,  sup 
posing  he  should  some  day  be  worth  a  great  deal  of  money. 
Would  he  keep  it,  or  would  he  spend  it  as  fast  and  as  foolishly 
as  his  father  had  spent  the  portion  allotted  to  him  ? 

"  You'd  keep  it,  wouldn't  you,  and  put  it  at  interest  ?  "  his 
mother  had  said,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  hair  with  a  motion 
which  she  meant  should  convey  some  suggestion  or  idea  to  his 
mind. 

But  Frank  had  few  ideas  of  his  own.  He  never  took  hints 
or  suggestions,  and  boy-like  he  answered  : 

"  I'd  buy  a  lot  of  horses,  -*nd  Roger  and  me  would  set  up  a 
circus  out  in  the  park." 

It  was  an  unlucky  answer,  for  the  love  of  fast  horses  had 
been  the  ruin  of  Frank's  father,  but  the  mention  of  Roger  went 
far  toward  softening  the  old  man.  Frank  had  thought  of 


EXPECTING  ROGER.  II 

Roger  at  once  ;  he  would  be  generous  with  him,  let  what  would 
happen,  and  the  frown  which  the  mention  of  horses  had  brought 
to  the  squire's  face  cleared  away  as  he  said : 

"  Hang  your  horses,  boy ;  keep  clear  of  them  as  you  would 
shun  the  small-pox,  but  be  fair  and  just  with  Roger  ;  poor 
Roger,  I  doubt  if  I  did  right." 

This  speech  had  been  followed  by  the  squire's  going  hastily 
out  upon  the  terrace,  where,  with  his  hands  behind  him  and  his 
head  bent  forward,  he  had  walked  for  more  than  an  hour,  while 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  peered  anxiously  at  him  from  time  to  time, 
and  seemed  a  good  deal  disturbed.  They  had  returned  to  the 
city  the  next  day,  and  Frank  had  noticed  some  changes  in  their 
style  of  living.  Another  servant  was  added  to  thf  ir  establish 
ment  ;  they  had  more  dishes  at  dinner,  while  his  mother  wtnt 
oftener  to  the  opera  and  Stewart's.  Now,  his  grandfather  was 
dead,  and  she  sat  there  looking  at  him  across  the  table  as  the 
tears  gathered  in  his  eyes,  and  when  he  stammered  out,  ';  We 
shall  never  go  to  Millbank  any  more,"  she  said  soothingly  to 
him,  "  We  may  live  there  altogether.  Would  you  like  it  ?  " 

He  did  not  comprehend  her  clearly,  but  the  thought  that  his 
grandfather's  death  did  not  necessarily  mean  banishment  from 
Millbank  helped  to  dry  his  eyes,  and  he  began  to  whistle  mer 
rily  at  the  prospect  of  going  there  at  once,  for  they  were  to 
start  that  very  day  on  the  three-o'clock  train.  "  It  was  better 
to  be  on  the  ground  as  soon  as  possible,"  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  re 
flected,  and  after  a  visit  to  her  dressmaker,  who  promised  that 
the  deepest  of  mourning  suits  should  follow  her,  she  started  with 
Frank  for  Millbank. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  Irving  had  never  been  a  favorite  at  Mill- 
bank  since  her  husband  had  taken  her  there  as  a  bride,  and 
she  had  given  mortal  offence  to  the  two  real  heads  of  the  house 
hold,  Aleck  and  Hester  Floyd,  by  putting  on  all  sorts  of  airs, 
snubbing  little  Roger,  and  speaking  of  his  mother  as  "  that  low 
creature,  whose  disgraceful  conduct  could  never  be  excused." 
Hester  Floyd,  to  whom  this  was  said,  could  have  forgiven  the 
airs  ;  indeed,  she  rather  looked  upon  them  as  belonging  by 


12  EXPECTING  ROGER. 

right  to  one  who  was  so  fortunate  as  to  marry  into  the  Irving 
family.  Cut  when  it  came  to  slighting  little  Roger  for  hig 
mother's  error,  and  to  speaking  of  that  mother  as  a  "low  crea 
ture,"  Hester's  hot  blood  was  roused,  and  there  commenced  at 
once  a  quiet,  unspoken  warfare,  which  had  never  ceased,  be 
tween  herself  and  the  offending  Mrs.  Walter  Scott.  Hester 
was  as  much  a  part  of  Millbank  as  the  stately  old  trees  in 
the  park,  a  few  of  which  she  had  helped  Aleck  to  plant 
when  she  was  a  girl  of  eighteen  and  he  a  boy  of  twenty.  She 
had  lived  at  Millbank  more  than  thirty  years.  She  had  come 
there  when  the  first  Mrs.  Irving  was  a  bride.  She  had  carried 
Walter  Scott  to  be  christened.  She  had  been  his  nurse,  and 
slapped  him  with  her  shoe  a  dozen  times.  She  had  been  mar 
ried  to  Aleck  in  her  mistress's  dining-room.  She  had  seen  the 
old  house  torn  down,  and  a  much  larger,  handsomer  one  built 
in  its  place  ;  and  then,  just  after  it  was  completed,  she  had  fol 
lowed  her  mistress  to  the  grave,  and  shut  up  the  many  beauti 
ful  rooms  which  were  no  longer  of  any  use.  Two  years  passed, 
and  then  her  master  electrified  her  one  day  with  the  news  that 
he  was  about  bringing  a  second  bride  to  Millbank,  a  girl  younger 
than  his  son  Walter,  and  against  whom  Hester  set  herself  fierce 
ly  as  against  an  usurper  of  her  rights.  But  when  the  sweet, 
pale-faced  Jessie  Morton  came,  with  her  great,  sad  blue  eyes, 
and  her  curls  of  golden  hair,  Hester's  resentment  began  to  give 
way,  for  she  could  not  harbor  malice  toward  a  creature  so  love 
ly,  so  gentle,  and  so  sad  withal :  and  after  an  interview  in  the 
bed-chamber,  when  poor  Jessie  threw  herself  with  a  passionate 
cry  into  Hester's  arms,  and  sobbed  piteously,  "  Be  kind  to  me, 
won't  you  ?  Be  my  friend.  I  have  none  in  all  the  world,  or  I 
should  not  be  here.  I  did  not  want  to  come,"  —  she  became 
her  strongest  ally,  and  proved  that  Jessie's  confidence  had  not 
been  misplaced.  There  had  come  a  dark,  dark  day  for  Mill- 
bank  since  then,  and  Jessie's  picture,  painted  in  full  dress,  with 
pearls  on  her  beautiful  neck  and  arms,  and  in  her  golden  hair, 
had  been  taken  from  the  parlor-wall  and  banished  to  the  gar 
ret  ;  and  Jessie's  name  was  never  spoken  by  the  master,  either 


EXPECTING  ROGER.  13 

to  his  servants  or  his  little  boy  Roger,  who  had  a  dash  of  gold 
in  his  brown  hair,  and  a  look  in  his  dark-blue  eyes,  like  that 
which  Jessie's  used  to  wear,  when,  in  the  long  evenings  before 
his  birth,  she  sat  with  folded  hands  gazing  into  the  blazing  fire, 
as  if  trying  to  solve  the  dark  mystery  of  her  life,  and  know 
why  her  lot  had  been  cast  there  at  Millbank  with  the  old  man, 
whom  she  did  not  hate,  but  whom  she  could  not  love.  There 
was  a  night,  too,  which  Hester  never  forgot,  —  a  night  when, 
with  nervous  agony  depicted  in  every  lineament,  Jessie  made 
her  swear  that,  come  what  might,  she  would  never  desert  or 
cease  to  love  the  boy  Roger,  sleeping  so  quietly  in  his  little 
crib.  She  was  to  care  for  him  as  if  he  were  her  own  ;  to  con 
sider  his  interest  before  that  of  any  other,  and  bring  him  up 
a  good  and  noble  man.  That  was  what  Jessie  asked,  and  what 
Hester  swore  to  do  ;  and  then  followed  swiftly  terror  and 
darkness  and  disgrace,  and  close  upon  their  footsteps  came 
retribution,  and  Jessie's  golden  head  was  lying  far  beneath  the 
sea  off  Hatteras's  storm-beaten  shore,  and  Jessie's  name  was 
rarely  heard.  But  Hester  kept  her  vow,  and  since  the  dreadful 
morning  when  Jessie  did  not  answer  to  the  breakfast  call,  and 
Jessie's  room  was  vacant,  Roger  had  never  wanted  for  a 
mother's  care.  Hester  had  no  children  of  her  own,  and  she 
took  hini  instead,  petting  and  caring  for,  and  scolding  him  as 
he  deserved,  and  through  all,  loving  him  with  a  brooding,  cling 
ing,  unselfish  love,  which  would  stop  at  nothing  which  she 
could  make  herself  believe  was  right  for  her  to  do  in  his  behalf. 
And  so,  when  the  young  bride  looked  coldly  upon  him  and 
spoke  slightingly  of  his  mother,  Hester  declared  battle  at  once  ; 
and  the  hatchet  had  never  been  buried,  for  Mrs.  Walter  Scott, 
in  her  frequent  visits  to  Millbank,  had  only  deepened  Hester's 
first  impressions  of  her. 

"  A  proud,  stuck-up  person,  with  no  kind  of  reason  for  bein' 
so  except  that  she  married  one  of  the  Irvingses,"  was  what 
Hester  said  of  her,  and  this  opinion  was  warmly  seconded  by 
Aleck,  who  always  thought  just  as  Hester  did. 

Had  she  been  Eve,  and  he  her  Adam,  he  would  have  eaten 


14  EXPECTING  ROGER. 

the  forbidden  fruit  without  a  question  as  to  his  right  to  do  so, 
just  because  she  gave  it  to  him,  but,  unlike  Adam,  he  would 
not  have  charged  the  fault  to  her ;  he  would  have  taken  it  upon 
himself,  as  if  the  idea  and  the  act  had  been  his  alone. 

For  Frank  there  was  more  toleration  at  Millbank.  "  lie  was 
not  very  bright,"  Hester  said  ;  "  but  how  could  he  be  with  such 
a  mother?  Little  pimpin,'  spindlin',  white-haired  critter,  then 
wasn't  half  so  much  snap  to  him  as  there  was  to  Roger." 

In  this  condition  of  things  it  was  hardly  to  be  supposed  that 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  reception  at  Millbank  was  very  cordial, 
when,  on  the  evening  after  the  squire's  death,  the  village  hack 
deposited  her  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  like  a 
depot  hack,  it  brought  her  so  much  on  a  level  with  common 
people  ;  and  her  first  words  to  Hester  were  : 

"Why  wasn't  the  carriage  sent  for  us?  Weren't  we  ex 
pected  ?  " 

There  was  an  added  air  of  importance  in  her  manner,  and 
she  spoke  like  one  whose  right  it  was  to  command  there ;  and 
Hester  detected  it  at  once.  But  in  her  manner  there  was,  if 
possible,  less  of  deference  than  she  had  usually  paid  to  the 
great  lady. 

"Aleck  had  the  neurology,  and  we  didn't  know  jestly  when 
you'd  come,"  was  her  reply,  as  she  led  the  way  to  the  chamber 
which  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  been  accustomed  to  occupy  dur 
ing  her  visits  to  Millbank. 

"  I  think  I'll  have  a  fire,  the  night  is  so  chilly,"  the  lady  said, 
with  a  shiver,  as  she  glanced  at  the  empty  grate.  "  And,  Hes 
ter,  you  may  send  my  tea  after  the  fire  is  made.  I  have  a  head 
ache,  and  am  too  tired  to  go  down." 

There  was  in  all  she  said  a  tone  and  air  which  seemed  to  im 
ply  that  she  was  now  the  mistress ;  and,  in  truth,  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  did  so  consider  herself,  or  rather,  as  a  kind  of  queen-regent 
ivho,  for  as  many  years  as  must  elapse  ere  Frank  became  of 
age,  would  reign  supreme  at  Millbank.  And  after  the  fire  was 
lighted  in  her  room,  and  her  cup  of  tea  was  brought  to  her, 
with  toast,  and  jelly,  and  cold  chicken,  she  was  thinking  more 


EXPECTING  ROGER.  15 

of  the  changes  she  would  make  in  the  old  place,  than  of  the 
white,  motionless  figure  which  lay,  just  across  the  hall,  in  a 
room  much  like  her  own.  She  had  not  seen  this  figure  yet. 
She  did  not  wish  to  carry  the  image  of  death  to  her  pillow,  and 
so  she  waited  till  morning,  when,  after  breakfast  was  over,  she 
went  with  Hester  to  the  darkened  room,  and  with  her  handker 
chief  ostensibly  pressed  to  her  eyes,  but  really  held  to  her  nose, 
she  stood  a  moment  by  the  dead,  and  sighed  : 

"Poor,  dear  old  man!  How  sudden  it  was;  and  what  a 
lesson  it  should  teach  us  all  of  the  mutability  of  life,  for  in  an 
hour  when  we  think  not,  death  cometh  upon  us  ! " 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  felt  that  some  such  speech  was  due  from 
her,  —  something  which  savored  of  piety,  and  which  might  pos 
sibly  do  good  to  the  angular,  square-shouldered,  flat-waisted 
woman  at  her  side,  who  understood  what  mutability  meant 
quite  as  well  as  she  would  have  understood  so  much  Hebrew. 
But  she  knew  the  lady  was  "  putting  on ; "  that,  in  her  heart,  she 
was  glad  the  "poor  old  man"  was  dead;  and  with  a  jerk  she 
drew  the  covering  over  the  pinched  white  face,  dropped  the 
curtain  which  had  been  raised  to  admit  the  light,  and  then 
opened  the  door  and  stood  waiting  for  the  lady  to  pass  out. 

"  I  shall  dismiss  that  woman  the  very  first  good  opportunity. 
She  has  been  here  too  long  to  come  quietly  under  a  new  ad 
ministration,"  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  thought,  as  she  went  slowly 
down  the  stairs,  and  through  the  lower  rooms,  deciding,  at  a 
glance,  that  this  piece  of  furniture  should  be  banished  to  the 
garret,  and  that  piece  transferred  to  some  more  suitable  place. 
"The  old  man  has  lived  here  alone  so  long,  that  everything 
bears  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  a  bachelor's  hall ;  but  I  shall 
soon  remedy  that.  I'll  have  a  man  from  the  city  whose  taste 
I  can  trust,"  she  said  ;  by  which  it  will  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  fully  expected  to  reign  triumphant  at  Millbank,  without  a 
thought  or  consideration  for  Roger,  the  dead  man's  idol,  who, 
according  to  all  natural  laws,  had  a  far  better  right  there  than 
herself. 

She  had  never  fancied  Roger,  because  she  felt  that  through 


16  EXPECTING  ROGER. 

Iiim  her  husband  would  lose  a  part  of  his  father's  fortune,  and 
as  he  grew  older  and  she  saw  how  superior  he  was  to  Frank, 
she  disliked  him  more  and  more,  though  she  tried  to  conceal 
her  dislike  from  her  husband,  who,  during  his  lifetime,  evinced 
almost  as  much  affection  for  his  young  half-brother  as  for  his 
own  son.  Walter  Scott  Irving  had  been  a  spendthrift,  and  the 
.fifl.y  thousand  dollars  which  his  father  gave  him  at  his  marriage 
had  melted  away  like  dew  in  the  morning  sun,  until  he  had 
barely  enough  to  subsist  upon.  Then  ten  thousand  more  had 
been  given  him,  with  the  understanding  that  this  was  all  he 
was  ever  to  receive.  The  rest  was  for  Roger,  the  father  said ; 
and  Walter  acquiesced,  and  admitted  that  it  was  right.  He 
had  had  his  education  with  sixty  thousand  beside,  and  he  could 
not  ask  for  more.  A  few  weeks  after  this  he  died  suddenly  of 
a  prevailing  fever,  and  then,  softened  by  his  son's  death,  the 
old  man  added  to  the  ten  thousand  and  bought  the  house  on 
Lexington  avenue,  and  deeded  it  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  herself. 
Since  that  time  fortunate  speculations  had  made  Squire  Irving 
a  richer  man  than  he  was  before  the  first  gift  to  his  son,  and 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  naturally  thought  it  very  hard  that 
Frank  was  not  to  share  in  this  increase  of  wealth.  But  no 
such  thoughts  were  troubling  her  now,  and  her  face  wore  a  very 
satisfied  look  of  resignation  and  submission  as  she  moved  lan 
guidly  around  the  house  and  grounds  in  the  morning,  and  then 
in  the  afternoon  dressed  herself  in  her  heavy,  trailing  silk,  and 
throwing  around  her  graceful  shoulders  a  scarlet  shawl,  went 
down  to  receive  the  calls  and  condolences  of  the  rector's  wife 
and  Mrs.  Colonel  Johnson,  who  came  in  to  see  her.  She  did 
not  tell  them  she  expected  to  be  their  neighbor  a  portion  of  the 
year,  and  when  they  spoke  of  Roger,  she  looked  very  sorry,  and 
sighed  :  "  Poor  boy,  it  will  be  a  great  shock  to  him." 

Then,  when  the  ladies  suggested  that  he  would  undoubtedly 
have  a  great  deal  of  property  left  to  him,  and  wondered  who 
his  guardian  would  be,  she  said  "  she  did  not  know.  Lawyer 
Schofield,  perhaps,  as  he  had  done  the  most  of  Squire  Irving' s 
business." 


EXPECTING  ROGER.  1 7 

"But  Lawyer  Schofield  is  dead.  He  died  three  weeks  ago," 
the  ladies  said;  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  cheek  for  a  moraenl 
turned  pale  as  she  expressed  her  surprise  at  the  news,  and  won- 
dered  she  had  not  heard  of  it. 

Then  the  conversation  drifted  back  to  Roger,  Avho  was  ex 
pected  the  next  night,  and  for  whom  the  funeral  was  delayed. 

"  I  always  liked  Roger,"  Mrs.  Johnson  said;  "and  I  must  say 
I  love'd  his  mother,  in  spite  of  her  faults.  She  was  a  lovely 
creature,  and  it  seems  a  tiaousand  pities  that  she  should  have 
married  so  old  a  man  as  Squire  Irving  when  she  loved  another 
so  much." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  said  it  was  a  pity,  —  said  she  always  dis 
approved  of  unequal  matches,  —  said  she  had  not  the  honor  of 
the  lady's  acquaintance,  and  then  bowed  her  visitors  out  with 
her  loftiest  air,  and  went  back  to  the  parlor,  and  wondered  what 
people  would  say  when  they  knew  what  she  did.  She  would 
be  very  kind  to  Roger,  she  thought.  Her  standing  in  Belvidere 
depended  upon  that,  and  he  should  have  a  home  at  Millbank 
until  he  was  of  age,  when,  with  the  legacy  left  to  him,  he  could 
do  very  well  for  himself.  She  wished  the  servants  did  not 
think  quite  so  much  of  him  as  they  did,  especially  Aleck  and 
Hester  Floyd,  who  talked  of  nothing  except  that  "  Master 
Roger  was  coming  to-morrow."  Her  mourning  was  coming, 
too ;  and  when  the  next  day  it  came,  she  arrayed  herself  in  the 
heavy  bombazine,  with  the  white  crape  band  at  the  throat  and 
wrists,  which  relieved  the  sombreness  of  her  attire.  She  was 
dressing  for  Roger,  she  said,  thinking  it  better  to  evince  some 
interest  in  an  event  which  was  occupying  so  much  of  the  ser 
vants'  thoughts. 

The  day  was  a  damp,  chilly  one  in  mid-April,  and  so  a  fire 
was  kindled  in  Roger's  room,  and  flowers  were  put  there,  and 
the  easy-chair  from  the  hall  library ;  and  Hester  went  in  and 
out  and  arranged  and  re-arranged  the  furniture,  and  then  flitted 
to  the  kitchen,  where  the  pies  and  puddings  which  Roger  loved 
were  baking,  and  where  Jeruah,  or  "  Ruey,"  as  she  was  called, 
was  beating  the  eggs  for  Roger's  favorite  cake.  He  would  be 


1 8  EXPECTING  ROGER. 

there  about  nine  o'clock,  she  knew,  for  she  had  received  a  tele« 
gram  from  Albany,  saying,  "Shall  be  home  at  nine.  Meet  me 
at  the  depot  without  fail." 

In  a  great  flurry  Hester  read  the  dispatch,  wondering  why 
she  was  to  meet  him  without  fail,  and  finally  deciding  that  the 
affectionate  boy  could  not  wait  till  he  reached  home  before 
pouring  out  his  tears  and  grief  on  her  motherly  bosom. 

"  Poor  child  !  I  presume  he'll  cry  fit  to  bust  when  he  sees 
me,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  looked  with  a  kind  of 
scorn  upon  the  preparations  for  the  supposed  heir  of  Millbank. 

The  night  set  in  with  a  driving  rain,  and  the  wind  moaned 
dismally  as  it  swept  past  the  house  where  the  dead  rested  so 
quietly,  and  where  the  living  were  so  busy  and  excited.  At 
half-past  eight  the  carriage  came  round,  and  Aleck  in  his  water 
proof  coat  held  the  umbrella  over  Hester's  head  as  she  walked 
to  the  carriage,  with  one  shawl  wrapped  around  her  and  an 
other  on  her  arm.  Why  she  took  that  second  shawl  she  did 
not  then  know,  but  afterward,  in  recounting  the  particulars  of 
that  night's  adventures,  she  said  it  was  just  a  special  Providence 
and  nothing  else  which  put  it  into  her  head  to  take  an  extra 
shawl,  and  that  a  big  warm  one.  Half  an  hour  passed,  and 
then  above  the  storm  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  heard  the  whistle  which 
announced  the  arrival  of  the  train.  Then  twenty  minutes  went 
by,  and  Frank,  who  was  watching  by  the  window,  screamed 
out  : 

"  They  are  coming,  mother.  I  see  the  lights  of  the  car 
riage." 

If  it  had  not  been  raining,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  would  have 
gone  to  the  door,  but  the  damp  air  was  sure  to  take  the  curl 
from  her  hair,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  thought  a  great  deal  of 
the  heavy  ringlets  which  fell  about  her  face  by  day  and  were 
tightly  rolled  in  papers  at  night.  So  she  only  went  as  far  as 
the  parlor  door,  where  she  stood  holding  together  the  scarf  she 
had  thrown  around  her  shoulders.  There  seemed  to  be  some 
delay  at  the  carriage,  and  the  voices  speaking  together  there 
were  low  and  excited. 


ROGER'S  STORY.  19 

"No,  Hester;  she  is  mine.  She  shall  go  in  the  front  way," 
Roger  was  heard  to  say ;  and  a  moment  after  Hester  Floyd 
came  hurriedly  into  the  hall,  holding  something  under  her  shawl 
which  looked  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  like  a  package  or  roll  of 
cloth. 

Following  Hester  was  Frank,  who,  having  no  curls  to  spoil, 
had  rushed  out  in  the  rain  to  meet  his  little  uncle,  of  whom  he 
had  always  been  so  fond. 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother !  "  he  exclaimed.  "What  do  you  think 
Roger  has  brought  home  ?  Something  which  he  found  in  the 
cars  where  a  wicked  woman  left  it.  Oh,  ain't  it  so  funny,  —  Ro 
ger  bringing  a  baby  ?  "  and  having  thus  thrown  the  bomb-shell 
at  his  mother's  feet,  Frank  darted  after  Hester,  and  poor  Roger 
was  left  alone  to  make  his  explanations  to  his  dreaded  sister-in- 
law. 


CHAPTER  II. 
ROGER'S  STORY. 

|ESTER'S  advent  into  the  kitchen  was  followed  by  a 
great  commotion,  and  Ruey  forgot  to  pour  any  water 
upon  the  tea  designed  for  Roger,  but  set  the  pot  upon 
the  hot  stove,  where  it  soon  began  to  melt  with  the  heat.  But 
neither  Hester  nor  Ruey  heeded  it,  so  absorbed  were  they  in 
the  little  bundle  which  the  former  had  laid  upon  the  table,  and 
which  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  life  and  vigorous  babyhood 
by  kicking  at  the  shawl  which  enveloped  it,  and  thrusting  out 
two  little  fat,  dimpled  fists,  which  beat  the  air  as  the  child  began 
to  scream  lustily  and  try  to  free  itself  from  its  wrappings. 

"  The  Lord  have  mercy  on  us  !  what  have  you  got  ?  "  Ruey 
exclaimed,  while  Hester,  with  a  pale  face  and  compressed  lip, 
replied  : 

"  A  brat  that  some  vile  woman  in  the  cars  asked  Roger  to 


20  ROGER'S  STORY. 

hold  while  she  got  out  at  a  station.  Of  course  she  didn't  ga 
back,  and  so,  fool-like,  he  brought  it  home,  because  it  was 
pretty,  he  said,  and  he  felt  so  sorry  for  it.  I  always  knew  he 
had  a  soft  spot,  but  I  didn't  think  it  would  show  itself  this 
way." 

It  was  the  first  time  Hester  had  ever  breathed  a  word  of 
complaint  against  the  boy  Roger,  whose  kindness  of  heart  and 
great  fondness  for  children  were  proverbial ;  and  now,  sorry  that 
she  had  done  so,  she  tried  to  make  amends  by  taking  the  strug 
gling  child  from  the  table  and  freeing  it  from  the  shawl  which 
she  had  carried  with  her  to  the  depot,  never  guessing  the  pur 
pose  to  which  it  would  be  applied.  It  was  a  very  pretty,  fat- 
faced  baby,  apparently  nine  or  ten  months  old,  and  the  hazel 
eyes  were  bright  as  buttons,  Ruey  said,  her  heart  warming  at 
once  toward  the  little  stranger,  at  whom  Hester  looked  askance. 
There  was  a  heavy  growth  of  dark  brown  hair  upon  the  head, 
with  just  enough  curl  in  it  to  make  it  lie  in  rings  about  the  fore 
head  and  neck.  The  clothes,  though  soiled  by  travelling,  were 
neatly  made,  and  showed  marks  of  pains  and  care  ;  while  about 
the  neck  was  a  fine  gold  chain,  to  which  was  attached  a  tiny 
locket,  with  the  initials  "L.  G."  engraved  upon  it.  These 
things  came  out  one  by  one  as  Hester  and  Ruey  together  ex 
amined  the  child,  which  did  not  evince  the  least  fear  of  them, 
but  which,  when  Ruey  stroked  its  cheek  caressingly,  looked  up 
in  her  face  with  a  coaxing,  cooing  noise,  and  stretched  its  arms 
toward  her. 

"  Little  darling,"  the  motherly  girl  exclaimed,  taking  it  at  once 
from  Hester's  lap  and  hugging  it  to  her  bosom.  "  I'm  so  glad 
it  is  here,  —  the  house  will  be  as  merry  again  with  a  baby  in  it." 

"  Do  you  think  Roger  will  keep  it  ?  You  must  be  crazy," 
Hester  said  sharply,  when  Frank,  who  had  divided  his  time  be 
tween  the  parlor  and  kitchen,  and  who  had  just  come  from  the 
former,  chimed  in  : 

"Yes,  he  will,  —  he  told  mother  so.  He  said  he  always 
wanted  a  sister,  and  he  should  keep  her,  and  mother's  rowin' 
him  for  it" 


ROGER'S  STORY.  21 

By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  the  child  was  the  topic  of  conversa 
tion  in  the  parlor  as  well  as  kitchen,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  asking 
numberless  questions,  and  Roger  explaining  as  far  as  was  pos 
sible  what  was  to  himself  a  mystery.  A  young  woman,  carry 
ing  a  baby  in  her  arms,  and  looking  very  tired  and  frightened, 
had  come  into  the  car  at  Cincinnati,  he  said,  and  asked  to  sit 
with  him.  She  was  a  pretty,  dark-faced  woman,  with  bright 
black  eyes,  which  .seemed  to  look  right  through  one,  and  which 
examined  him  very  sharply.  She  did  not  talk  much  to  him, 
but  appeared  to  be  wrapped  in  thoughts  which  must  have  been 
very  amusing,  as  she  would  occasionally  laugh  quietly  to  her 
self,  and  then  relapse  into  an  abstracted  mood.  Roger  thought 
now  that  she  seemed  a  little  strange,  though  at  the  time  he  had 
no  suspicions  of  her,  and  was  very  kind  to  the  baby,  whom 
she  asked  him  to  hold.  He  was  exceedingly  fond  of  children, 
especially  little  girls,  and  he  took  this  one  readily,  and  fed  it 
with  candy,  with  which  his  pockets  were  always  filled.  In  this 
way  they  travelled  until  it  began  to  grow  dark  and  they  stopped 

at ,  a  town  fifty  miles  or  more  from  Cincinnati.     Here  the 

woman  asked  him   to   look  after  her  baby  a  few  moments 
while  she  went  into  the  next  car,  to  see  a  friend. 

"  If  she  gets  hungry,  give  her  some  milk,"  she  added,  taking 
a  bottle  from  the  little  basket  which  she  had  with  her  under  the 
seat. 

Without  the  slightest  hesitation  Roger  consented  to  play  the 
part  of  nurse  to  the  little  girl,  who  was  sleeping  at  the  time,  and 
whom  the  mother,  if  mother  she  were,  had  lain  upon  the  unoc 
cupied  seat  in  front.  Bending  close  to  the  round,  flushed  face, 
the  woman  whispered  something ;  then,  with  a  kiss  upon  the 
lips,  as  if  in  benediction,  she  went  out,  and  Roger  saw  her  no 
more.  He  did  not  notice  whether  she  went  into  another  car 
or  left  the  train  entirely.  He  only  knew  that  a  half  hour 
passed  and  she  did  not  return  ;  then  another  half  hour  went 
by  ;  and  some  passengers  claimed  one  of  the  seats  occupied  by 
him  and  his  charge.  In  lifting  the  child  he  woke  her,  but  in 
stead  of  crying,  she  rubbed  her  pretty  eyes  with  her  little  fists, 


22  ROGER'S  STORY. 

and  then,  with  a  smile,  laid  her  head  confidingly  against  his 
bosom  and  was  soon  sleeping  again.  So  long  as  she  remained 
quiet,  Roger  felt  no  special  uneasiness  about  the  mother's  pro 
tracted  absence,  which  had  now  lengthened  into  nearly  two 
hours  ;  but  when  at  last  the  child  began  to  cry,  and  neither 
candy,  nor  milk,  nor  pounding  on  the  car  window,  nor  his  lead 
^pencil,  nor  his  jack-knife,  nor  watch  had  any  effect  upon  her, 
he  began  to  grow  very  anxious,  and  to  the  woman  in  front  who 
asked  rather  sharply,  "  what  was  the  matter,  and  what  he  was 
doing  with  that  child  alone,"  he  said,  — 

"  I  am  taking  care  of  her  while  her  mother  sees  a  friend  in 
the  next  car.  I  wish  she  would  come  back.  She's  been  gone 
ever  so  long." 

The  cries  were  screams  by  this  time,  —  loud,  passionate 
screams,  which  indicated  great  strength  of  lungs,  and  roused  up 
the  drowsy  passengers,  who  began,  some  of  them,  to  grumble, 
while  one  suggested  "pitching  the  brat  out  of  the  window." 

With  his  face  very  red,  and  the  perspiration  starting  out  about 
his  mouth,  Roger  arose,  and  tried,  by  walking  up  and  down  the 
aisle,  to  hush  the  little  one  into  quiet.  Once  he  thought  of 
going  into  the  next  car  in  quest  of  the  missing  mother,  —  then, 
thinking  to  himself  that  she  surely  would  return  ere  long,  he 
abandoned  the  idea,  and  resumed  his  seat  with  the  now  quiet 
child.  And  so  another  hour  went  by,  and  they  were  nearly  a 
hundred  miles  from  the  place  where  the  woman  had  left  him. 
Had  Roger  been  older,  a  suspicion  of  foul  play  would  have 
come  to  him  long  before  this ;  but,  the  soul  of  honor  himself, 
he  believed  in  everybody  else,  and  not  a  doubt  crossed  his 
mind  that  anything  was  wrong  until  the  woman  who  had  first 
spoken  to  him  began  to  question  him  again,  and  ask  if  it  was 
his  sister  he  was  caring  for  so  kindly.  Then  the  story  came 
out,  and  Roger  felt  as  if  smothering,  when  the  woman  exclaimed, 
"Why,  boy,  the  child  has  been  deserted.  It  is  left  on  youi 
hands.  The  mother  will  never  come  to  claim  it." 

For  an  instant  the  car  and  everything  in  it  turned  dark  tc 


ROGER'S  STORY.  23 

poor  Roger,  who  gasped,  "  You  must  be  mistaken.     She  is  in 
the  next  car,  sure.     Hold  the  baby,  and  I'll  find  her." 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitancy  on  the  part  of  the  woman, 

—  a  fear  lest  she,  too,  might  be  duped ;  but  another  look  at  the 
boy's  frank,  ingenuous  face,  reassured  her.     There  was  no  evil 
in  those  clear,  blue  eyes  which  met  hers  so  imploringly,  and  she 
took  the  child  in  her  arms,  while  he  went  for  the  missing  mother, 

—  v/ent  through  the  adjoining  car  and  the  next,  —  peering  anx 
iously  into  every  face,  but  not  finding  the  one  he  sought.    Then 
he  came  back,  and  went  through  the  rear  car,  but  all  in  vain. 
The  dark-faced  woman  with  the  glittering  eyes  and  strange 
smile,  was  gone !     The  baby  was  deserted  and  left  on  Roger's 
hands.     He   understood  it  perfectly,  and   the  understanding 
seemed  suddenly  to  add  years  of  discretion  and  experience  to 
him.     Slowly  he  went  back  to  the  waiting  woman,  and  without 
a  word  took  the  child  from  her,  and  letting  his  boyish  face  drop 
over  it,  he  whispered,  "  Your  mother  has  abandoned  you,  little 
one,  but  I  will  care  for  you." 

He  was  adopting  the  poor  forsaken  child,  —  was  accepting 
his  awkward  situation,  and  when  that  was  done  he  reported  his 
success.  There  was  an  ejaculation  of  horror  and  surprise  on 
the  woman's  part;  a  quick  rising  up  from  her  seat  to  "do 
something,"  or  "tell  somebody"  of  the  terrible  thing  which  had 
transpired  before  their  very  eyes.  There  was  a  great  excite 
ment  now  in  the  car,  and  the  passengers  crowded  around  the 
boy,  who  told  them  all  he  knew,  and  then  to  their  suggestions 
as  to  ways  and  means  of  finding  the  unnatural  parent,  quietly 
replied,  "  I  shan't  try  to  find  her.  She  could  not  be  what  she 
ought,  and  the  baby  is  better  without  her." 

"But  what  can  you  do  with  a  baby,"  a  chorus  of  voice? 
asked;  and  Roger  replied  with  the  air  of  twenty-five  rather 
than  fourteen,  "  I  have  money.  I  can  see  that  she  is  taken 
care  of." 

"  The  beginning  of  a  very  pretty  little  romance,"  one  of  the 
younger  ladies  said,  and  then,  as  the  conductor  appeared,  he 
was  pounced  upon  and  the  story  told  to  him,  and  suggestions 


24  ROGER'S  STORY. 

made  that  he  should  stop  the  train,  or  telegraph  back,  or  do 
something. 

"  What  shall  I  stop  the  train  for,  and  whom  shall  I  telegraph 
to?"  he  asked.  "It  is  a  plain  case  of  desertion,  and  the 

mother  is  miles  and  miles  away  from by  this  time.  There 

would  be  no  such  thing  as  tracing  her.  Such  things  are  of  fre 
quent  occurrence  ;  but  I  will  make  all  necessary  inquiries  when 
I  go  back  to-morrow,  and  will  see  that  the  child  is  given  to  the 
proper  authorities,  who  will  either  get  it  a  place,  or  put  it  in  the 
poor-house." 

At  the  mention  of  the  poor-house,  Roger's  eyes,  usually  so 
mild  in  their  expression,  flashed  defiantly  upon  the  conductor. 
While  the  crowd  around  him  had  been  talking,  a  faint  doubt  as 
to  the  practicability  of  his  taking  the  child  had  crossed  his 
mind.  His  father  was  dead,  he  had  his  education  to  get,  and 
Millbank  might  perhaps  be  shut  up,  or  let  to  strangers  for  sev- 
euil  years  to  come.  And  what  then  could  be  done  with  Baby. 
These  were  his  sober-second  thoughts  after  his  first  indignant 
burst  at  finding  the  child  deserted,  and  had  some  respectable, 
kind-looking  woman  then  offered  to  take  his  charge  from  his 
hands,  he  might  have  given  it  up.  But  from  the  poor-house 
arrangement  he  recoiled  in  horror,  remembering  a  sweet-faced, 
blue-eyed  little  girl,  with  tangled  hair  and  milk-white  feet,  whom 
he  had  seen  sitting  on  the  door  of  the  poor-house  in  Belvi- 
dere.  She  had  been  found  in  a  stable,  and  sent  to  the  alms- 
house.  Nobody  cared  for  her,  —  nobody  but  Roger,  who  often 
fed  her  with  apples  and  candy,  and  wished  there  was  something 
better  for  her  than  life  in  that  dark  dreary  house  among  the 
hills.  And  it  was  to  just  such  a  life,  if  not  a  worse  one,  that  the 
cruel  conductor  would  doom  the  Baby  left  in  his  care. 

"  If  I  can  help  it,  Baby  shall  never  go  to  the  poor-house," 
Roger  said ;  and  when  a  lady,  who  admired  the  spirit  of  the  boy, 
asked  him,  "  Have  you  a  mother?"  he  answered,  "  No,  nor 
father  either,  but  I  have  Hester  •  "  and  as  if  that  settled  it,  he  put 
the  child  on  the  end  of  the  seat  farthest  away  from  the  crowd, 
which  gradually  dispersed,  while  the  conductor,  after  inquiring 


ROGER'S  STORY.  2$ 

Rigor's  name  and  address,  went  about  his  business  of  collect 
ing  tickets,  and  left  him  to  himself. 

That  he  ever  got  comfortably  from  Cleveland  to  Belvidere 
with  his  rather  troublesome  charge,  was  almost  a  miracle,  and 
he  would  not  have  done  so  but  for  the  many  friendly  hands 
stretched  out  to  help  him.  As  far  as  Buffalo,  there  were  those 
in  the  car  who  knew  of  the  strange  incident,  and  who  watched, 
and  encouraged,  and  helped  him,  but  after  Buffalo  was  left  be 
hind  he  was  wholly  among  strangers.  Still,  a  boy  travelling 
with  a  baby  could  not  fail  to  attract  attention,  and  many 
inquiries  were  made  of  him  as  to  the  whys  and  wherefores  of 
his  singular  position.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  make 
very  lucid  explanations.  He  said,  "  She  is  my  sister ;  not  my 
own,  but  my  adopted  sister,  whom  I  am  taking  home ; "  and  he 
blessed  his  good  angel,  which  caused  the  child  to  sleep  so  much 
of  the  time,  as  he  thus  avoided  notice  and  remarks  which  were 
distasteful  to  him.  Occasionally,  athought  of  what  Hester  might 
say  would  make  him  a  little  uncomfortable.  She  was  the  only 
one  who  could  possibly  object, —  the  only  one  in  fact  who  had 
a  right  to  object,  —  for  with  the  great  shock  of  his  father's  death 
Roger  had  been  made  to  feel  that  he  was  now  the  rightful  master 
at  Millbank.  His  prospective  inheritance  had  been  talked  of 
at  once  in  the  family  of  the  clergyman,  who  had  moved  from 
Belvidere  to  St.  Louis,  and  with  whom  Roger  was  preparing  for 
college  when  the  news  of  his  loss  came  to  him. 

Mr.  Morrison  had  said  to  him,  "  You  are  rich,  my  boy.  You 
are  owner  of  Millbank,  but  do  not  let  your  wealth  become  a 
snare.  Do  good  with  your  money,  and  remember  that  a  tenth, 
at  least,  belongs  by  right  to  the  Lord." 

And  amidst  the  keen  pain  which  he  felt  at  his  father's  death, 
Roger  had  thought  how  much  good  he  would  do,  and  how  he 
would  imitate  his  noble  friend  and  teacher,  Mr.  Morrison,  who, 
from  his  scanty  income,  cheerfully  gave  more  than  a  tenth,  and 
still  never -lacked  for  food  or  raiment.  That  Baby  was  sent  direct 
from  Heaven  to  test  his  principles,  he  made  himself  believe ; 
and  by  the  time  the  mountains  of  Massachusetts  were  reached 
2 


26  ROGER'S  STORY. 

he  began  to  feel  quite  composed,  except  on  the  subject  of  Hes. 
ter.  She  did  trouble  him  a  little,  and  he  wished  the  first  meet 
ing  with  her  was  over.  With  careful  forethought  he  telegraphed 
for  her  to  meet  him,  and  then  when  he  saw  her  he  held  the  child 
to  her  at  once,  and  hastily  told  her  a  part  of  his  story,  and  felt 
his  heart  grow  heavy  as  lead,  when  he  saw  how  she  shrank  from 
the  little  one  as  if  there  had  been  pollution  in  its  touch. 

"  I  reckon  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  will  ride  a  high  hoss  when  she 
knows  what  you  done,"  Hester  said,  when  at  last  they  were  in 
the  carriage  and  driving  toward  home. 

At  the  mention  of  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  Roger  grew  uneasy. 
He  had  a  dread  of  his  stylish  sister-in-law,  with  her  lofty  man* 
ner  and  air  of  superiority,  and  he  shrank  nervously  from  what 
she  might  say. 

"  O  Hester  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Is  Helen  at  Millbank  ;  and 
will  she  put  on  her  biggest  ways  f  " 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  Helen  Brown.  'Tain't  none  of 
her  business  if  you  bring  a  hundred  young  ones  to  Millbank," 
Hester  said,  and  as  she  said  it  she  came  very  near  going  over 
to  the  enemy,  and  espousing  the  cause  of  the  poor  little  waif  in 
her  arms,  out  of  sheer  defiance  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  was 
sure  to  snub  the  stranger,  as  she  had  snubbed  Roger  before  her. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  when  the  carriage  finally  stopped 
at  Millbank,  and  Hester  insisted  upon  taking  the  child  through 
the  kitchen  door,  as  the  way  most  befitting  for  it.  But  Roger 
said  no ;  and  so  it  was  up  the  broad  stone  steps,  and  across  the 
wide  piazza,  and  into  the  handsome  hall,  that  Baby  was  carried 
upon  her  first  entrance  to  Millbank. 


WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK.  2} 

CHAPTER  III. 

WHAT  THEY  DID   AT   MILLBANK. 

j|H  !  Roger,  this  is  a  sorry  coraing  home,"  Mrs.  Waltci 
Scott  had  said  when  Roger  first  appeared  in  view;  and 
taking  a  step  forward,  she  kissed  him  quite  affection 
ately,  and  even  ran  her  white  fingers  through  his  moist  hair  in  a 
pitying  kind  of  way. 

She  could  afford  to  be  gracious  to  the  boy  whom  she  had 
wronged,  but  when  Frank  threw  the  bomb-shell  at  her  feet  with 
regard  to  the  mysterious  bundle  under  Hester's  shawl,  she  drew 
back  quickly,  and  demanded  of  her  young  brother-in-law  what 
it  meant.  She  looked  very  grand,  and  tall,  and  white  in  her 
mourning  robes,  and  Roger  quaked  as  he  had  never  done  before 
in  her  presence,  and  half  wished  he  had  left  the  innocent  baby 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  conductor  and  the  poor-house. 
But  this  was  only  while  he  stood  damp  and  uncomfortable  in 
the  chilly  hall,  with  the  cold  rain  beating  in  upon  him.  The 
moment  he  entered  the  warm  parlor,  where  the  fire  was  blazing 
in  the  grate  and  the  light  from  the  wax  candles  shone  upon  the 
familiar  furniture,  he  felt  a  sense  of  comfort  and  reassurance 
creeping  over  him,  and  unconscious  to  himself  a  feeling  of  the 
master  came  with  the  sense  of  comfort,  and  made  him  less  afraid 
of  the  queenly-looking  woman  standing  by  the  mantel,  and 
waiting  for  his  story.  He  was  at  home,  —  his  own  home,  — • 
where  he  had  a  right  to  keep  a  hundred  deserted  children  if 
he  liked.  This  was  what  Hester  had  said  in  referring  to  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott,  and  it  recurred  to  Roger  now  with  a  deeper  mean 
ing  than  he  had  given  it  at  that  time.  He  had 'a  right,  and  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott,  though  she  might  properly  suggest  and  advise, 
could  not  take  that  right  from  him.  And  the  story  which  he 
told  her  was  colored  with  this  feeling  of  doing  as  he  thought 
best ;  and  shrewd  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  detected  it  at  once,  and 
her  large  black  eyes  had  in  them  a  gleam  of  scorn  not  alto 


28  WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK. 

gether  free  from  pity  as  she  thought  how  mistaken  he  was,  and 
how  the  morrow  would  materially  change  his  views  with  regard 
to  many  things.  She  had  not  seen  Roger  in  nearly  a  year  and 
a  half,  and  in  that  time  he  had  grown  taller  and  stouter  and 
more  manly  than  the  boy  of  twelve,  whom  she  remembered  in 
roundabouts.  He  wore  roundabouts  still,  and  his  collar  was  • 
turned  down  and  tied  with  a  simple  black  ribbon,  and  he  was 
only  fourteen ;  but  a  well-grown  boy  for  that  age,  with  a  curve 
about  his  lip  and  a  look  in  his  eyes,  which  told  that  the  man 
within  him  was  beginning  to  develop,  and  warned  her  that  she 
had  a  stronger  foe  to  deal  with  than  she  had  anticipated ;  so 
she  restrained  herself,  and  was  very  calm  and  lady-like  and  col 
lected  as  she  asked  him  what  he  proposed  doing  with  the  child 
whom  he  had  so  unwisely  brought  to  Millbank. 

Roger  had  some  vague  idea  of  a  nurse  with  a  frilled  cap,  and 
a  nursery  with  toys  scattered  over  the  floor,  and  a  crib  with 
lace  curtains  over  it,  and  a  baby-head  making  a  dent  in  the 
pillow,  and  a  baby  voice  cooing  him  a  welcome  when  he  came 
in,  and  a  baby-cart,  sent  from  New  York,  and  a  fancy  blanket 
with  it.  Indeed,  this  pleasant  picture  of  something  he  had  seen 
in  St.  Louis,  in  one  of  the  handsome  houses  where  he  occasion 
ally  visited,  had  more  than  once  presented  itself  to  his  mind  as 
forming  "a  part  of  the  future,  but  he  would  not  for  the  world 
have  let  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  into  that  sanctuary.  That  cold, 
proud-faced  woman  confronting  him  so  calmly  had  nothing  in 
common  with  his  ideals,  and  so  he  merely  replied  : 

"  She  can  be  taken  care  of  without  much  trouble.  Hester 
is  not  too  old.  She  made  me  a  capital  nurse." 

It  was  of  no  use  to  reason  with  him,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
did  not  try.  She  merely  said  : 

"  It  was  a  very  foolish  thing  to  do,  and  no  one  but  you  would 
have  done  it.  You  will  think  better  of  it  after  a  little,  and  get 
the  child  off  your  hands.  You  were  greatly  shocked,  of  course, 
at  the  dreadful  news  ?  " 

It  was  the  very  first  allusion  anybody  had  made  to  the  cause 
of  Roger's  being  there.  The  baby  had  absorbed  every  one's 


WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK.  2$ 

attention,  and  the  dead  man  upstairs  had  been  for  a  time  for 
gotten  by  all  save  Roger.  He  had  through  all  been  conscious 
of  a  heavy  load  of  pain,  a  feeling  of  loss ;  and  as  he  drove  up 
to  the  house  he  had  looked  sadly  toward  the  windows  of  the 
room  where  he  had  oftenest  seen  his  father.  He  did  not  know 
that  he  was  there  now  ;  he  did  not  know  where  he  was  ;  and 
when  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  referred  to  him  so  abruptly,  he  an 
swered  with  a  quivering  lip  :  "  Where  is  father  ?  Did  they  lay 
him  in  his  own  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you'll  find  him  looking  Trery  natural,  —  almost  as  if  he 
were  alive  ;  but  I  would  not  see  him  to-night.  You  are  too  tired. 
You  must  be  hungry,  too.  You  have  had  no  supper.  What 
can  Hester  be  doing  ?  " 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  in  a  very  kind  mood  now,  and  volun 
teered  to  go  herself  to  the  kitchen  to  see  why  Roger's  supper 
was  not  forthcoming.  But  in  this  she  was  forestalled  by  Ruey, 
who  came  to  say  that  supper  was  waiting  in  the  dining-room, 
whither  Roger  went,  followed  -by  his  sister-in-law,  who  poured 
his  tea  and  spread  him  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  with  plent} 
of  raspberry  jam.  And  Roger  relished  the  bread  and  jam  with 
a  boy's  keen  appetite,  and  thought  it  was  nicer  to  be  at  Mill 
bank  than  in  the  poor  clergyman's  box  of  a  house  at  St.  Louis, 
and  then,  with  a  great  sigh,  thought  of  the  white-haired  old 
man,  who  used  to  welcome  him  home  and  pat  him  so  kindly 
on  his  head  and  call  him  "  Roger-boy."  The  white-haired  man 
was  gone  forever  now,  and  with  a  growing  sense  of  loneliness 
and  loss,  Roger  finished  his  supper  and  went  to  the  kitchen, 
where  Baby  lay  sleeping  upon  the  settee  which  Hester  had 
drawn  to  the  fire,  while  Frank  sat  on  a  little  stool,  keeping 
watch  over  her.  He  had  indorsed  the  Baby  from  the  first,  and 
when  Hester  gruffly  bade  him  "  keep  out  from  under  foot," 
he  had  meekly  brought  up  the  stool  and  seated  himself  de 
murely  between  the  settee  and  the  oven  door,  where  he  was 
entirely  out  of  the  way. 

Hester  still  looked  very  much  disturbed  and  aggrieved,  and 
when  she  met  Roger  on  his  way  to  the  kitchen,  she  passed  him 


30  WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK. 

without  a  word;  but  the  Hester  Floyd  Arho,  after  a  time,  went 
back  to  the  kitchen,  was  in  a  very  different  mood  from  the  one 
who  had  met  Roger  a  short  time  before.  This  change  had 
been  wrought  by  a  few  words  spoken  to  her  by  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott,  who  sat  over  the  fire  in  the  dining-room  when  Hestei 
entered  it,  and  who  began  to  talk  of  the  baby  which  "  that 
foolish  boy  had  brought  home." 

"  I  should  suppose  he  would  have  known  better ;  but  then, 
Mrs.  Floyd,  you  must  be  aware  of  the  fact  that  in  some  things 
Roger  is  rather  weak  and  a  little  like  his  mother,  who  proved 
pretty  effectually  how  vacillating  she  was,  and  how  easily  in- 
lluenced." 

Hester's  straight,  square  back  grew  a  trifle  squarer  and 
straighter,  and  Baby's  cause  began  to  gain  ground,  for  Hester 
deemed  it  a  religious  duty  to  oppose  whatever  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  approved.  So  if  the  lady  was  for  sending  the  Baby  away 
from  Millbank,  she  was  for  keeping  it  there.  Still  she  made 
no  comments,  but  busied  herself  with  putting  away  the  sugar 
and  cream  and  pot  of  jam,  into  which  Roger  had  made  such 
inroads. 

Seeing  her  auditor  was  not  disposed  to  talk,  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  continued : 

"  You  have  more  influence  with  Roger  than  any  one  else, 
and  I  trust  you  will  use  that  influence  in  the  right  direction ;  for 
supposing  everything  were  so  arranged  that  he  could  keep  the 
child  at  Millbank,  the  trouble  would  fall  on  you,  and  it  is  too 
much  to  ask  of  a  woman  of  your  age." 

Hester  was  not  sensitive  on  the  point  of  age,  but  to  have 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  speak  of  her  as  if  she  were  in  her  dotage  was 
more  than  she  could  bear,  and  she  answered  tartly,  — 

"  I  am  only  fifty-two.  I  reckon  I  am  not  past  bringin'  up  a 
child.  I  ain't  quite  got  softenin'  of  the  brain,  and  if  master 
Roger  has  a  mind  to  keep  the  poor  forsaken  critter,  it  ain't  for 
them  who  isn't  his  betters  to  go  agin  it.  The  owner  of  Mill- 
bank  can  do  as  he  has  a  mind,  and  Roger  is  the  master  now, 
you  know." 


WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK.  3 1 

With  this  speech  Hester  whisked  out  of  the  room,  casting  a 
glance  backward  to  see  the  effect  of  her  parting  shot  on  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott.  Perhaps  it  was  the  reflection  of  the  fire  or  her 
scarlet  shawl  which  cast  such  a  glow  on  the  lady's  white  cheek, 
and  perhaps  it  was  Avhat  Hester  said ;  but  aside  from  the 
rosy  flush  there  was  no  change  in  her  countenance,  unless  it 
were  an  expression  of  benevolent  pity  for  people  who  were  so 
deluded  as  Mrs.  Floyd  and  Roger.  "  Wait  till  to-morrow  and 
you  may  change  your  opinion,"  trembled  on  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's 
lips,  but  to  say  that  would  be  to  betray  her  knowledge  of  what 
she  meant  should  appear  as  great  a  surprise  to  herself  as 
to  any  one.  So  she  wrapped  her  shawl  more  closely  around 
her,  and  leaned  back  languidly  in  her  chair,  while  Hester  went 
up  the  back  stairs  to  an  old  chest  filled  with  linen,  and  redolent 
with  the  faint  perfume  of  sprigs  of  lavender  and  cedar,  rose- 
leaves  and  geraniums,  which  were  scattered  promiscuously 
among  the  yellow  garments.  That  chest  was  a  sacred  place 
to  Hester,  for  it  held  poor  Jessie's  linen,  the  dainty  garments 
trimmed  with  lace,  and  tucks  and  ruffles  and  puffs,  which  the 
old  Squire  had  bidden  Hester  put  out  of  his  sight,  and  which 
she  had  folded  away  in  the  big  old  chest,  watering  them  with 
her  tears,  and  kissing  the  tiny  slippers  which  had  been  found 
just  where  Jessie  left  them.  The  remainder  of  Jessie's  ward 
robe  was  in  the  bureau  in  the  Squire's  own  room,  —  the  white 
satin  dress  and  pearls  which  she  wore  in  the  picture,  —  the 
expensive  veil,  the  orange  wreath  which  had  crowned  her  golden 
hair  at  the  bridal,  and  many  other  costly  things  which  the  old 
man  had  heaped  upon  his  darling,  were  all  there  under  lock  and 
key.  But  Hester  kept  the  oaken  chest,  and  under  Jessie's 
clothes  were  sundry  baby  garments  which  Hester  had  laid 
away  as  mementos  of  the  happy  days  when  Roger  was  a 
baby,  and  his  beautiful  mother  the  pride  of  Millbank  and  the 
belle  of  Belvidere. 

"  If  that  child  only  stays  one  night,  she  must  have  a  night 
gown  to  sleep  in,"  she  said,  as  with  a  kind  of  awe  she  turned 


32  WHAT  THEY  DID  AT  MILLBANK. 

over  the  contents  of  the  chest  till  she  came  to  a  pile  of  night 
gowns  which  Roger  had  worn. 

Selecting  the  plainest  and  coarsest  of  them  all,  she  closed  the 
chest  and  went  down  stairs  to  the  kitchen,  where  both  the  boys 
were  bending  over  the  settee  and  talking  to  the  Baby.  There 
was  a  softness  in  her  manner  now,  something  really  motherly, 
as  she  took  the  little  one,  and  began  to  undress  it,  with  Roger 
and  Frank  looking  curiously  on. 

"  Dirty  as  the  rot,"  was  her  comment,  as  she  saw  the  marks 
of  car-dust  and  smoke  cinders  on  the  fat  neck  and  arms  and 
hands.  "  She  or"to  have  a  bath,  and  she  must,  too.  Here, 
Ruey,  bring  me  some  warm  water,  and  fetch  the  biggest  foot- 
tub,  and  a  piece  of  castile  soap,  and  a  crash-towel,  and  you 
boys,  go  out  of  here,  both  of  you.  I'll  see  that  the  youngster 
is  taken  care  of." 

Roger  knew  from  the  tone  of  her  voice  that  Baby  was  safe 
with  her,  and  he  left  the  kitchen  with  his  spirits  so  much  light 
ened  that  he  began  to  hum  a  popular  air  he  had  heard  in  the 
streets  in  St.  Louis. 

"  Oh,  Roger,  singing  with  grandpa  dead,"  Frank  exclaimed  ; 
and  then  Roger  remembered  the  white,  stiffened  form  upstairs, 
and  thought  himself  a  hardened  wretch  that  he  could  for  a 
moment  have  so  forgotten  his  loss  as  to  sing  a  negro  melody. 

"  I  did  not  mean  any  disrespect  to  father,"  he  said  softly  to 
Frank,  and  without  going  back  to  the  parlor,  he  stole  up  to  his 
own  room,  and  kneeling  by  his  bedside,  said  the  familiar  prayer 
commencing  with  "  Our  Father,"  and  then  cried  himself  to 
sleep  with  thinking  of  the  dead  father,  who  could  never  speak 
to  him  again. 


THE  MORNING  OF  THE  FUNERAL.  33 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  MORNING  OF  THE  FUNERAL. 

|F  Frank  Irving  had  been  poor,  instead  of  the  grand 
son  of  a  wealthy  man,  he  would  have  made  a  splendid 
carpenter ;  for  all  his  tastes,  which  were  not  given  to 
horses,  ran  in  the  channel  of  a  mechanic,  and  numerous  were 
the  frames  and  boxes  and  stools  which  he  had  fashioned  at 
Millbank  with  the  set  of  tools  his  grandfather  had  bought  him. 
The  tools  had  been  kept  at  Millbank,  for  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
would  not  have  her  house  on  Lexington  Avenue  "lumbered 
up  ; "  and  with  the  first  dawn  of  the  morning  after  Roger's 
return,  Frank  was  busy  in  devising  what  he  intended  as  a  cradle 
for  the  baby.  He  had  thought  of  it  the  night  before,  when  he 
saw  it  on  the  settee  ;  and,  now,  with  the  aid  of  a  long,  narrow 
candle-box  and  a  pair  of  rockers  which  he  took  from  an  old 
chair,  he^ succeeded  in  fashioning  as  uncouth  a  looking  thing 
as  ever  a  baby  was  rocked  in. 

"  It's  because  the  sides  are  so  rough,"  he  said,  surveying  his 
work  with  a  rueful  face.  "  I  mean  to  paper  it,  and  maybe  the 
darned  thing  will  look  better." 

He  knew  where  there  were  some  bits  of  wall  paper,  and  se 
lecting  the  very  gaudiest  piece,  with  the  largest  pattern,  he  fit 
ted  it  to  the  cradle,  and  then  letting  Ruey  into  his  secret,  coaxed 
her  to  make  some  paste  ar  d  help  him  put  it  on.  The  cradle 
had  this  in  its  favor,  that  it  would  rock  as  well  as  a  better  one; 
anil  tolerably  satisfied  with  his  work,  Frank  took  it  to  the 
kitchen,  where  it  was  received  with  smothered  bursts  of  laugh 
ter  from  the  servants,  who  nevertheless  commended  the  boy's 
ingenuity;  and  when  the  baby,  nicely  dressed  in  a  cotton  slip 
which  Roger  used  to  wear,  was  brought  from  Hester's  room 
and  lifted  into  her  new  place,  she  seemed,  with  her  bright,  flash 
ing  eyes,  and  restless,  graceful  motions,  to  cast  a  kind  of  halo 
around  the  candle-box  and  make  it  beautiful  just  because  she 


34       THE  MORNING  OF  THE  FUNERAL. 

was  in  it.  Roger  was  delighted,  and  in  his  generous  heart  he 
thought  how  many  things  he  would  do  for  Frank  in  return  for 
his  kindness  to  the  little  child,  crowing,  and  spattering  its  hands 
in  its  dish  of  milk,  and  laughing  aloud  as  the  white  drops  fell  on 
Frank's  face  and  hair.  Baby  evidently  felt  at  home,  and  fresh 
and  neat  in  her  clean  dress,  she  looke.d  even  prettier  than  on 
the  previous  night,  and  made  a  very  pleasing  picture  in  her 
papered  cradle,  with  the  two  boys  on  their  knees  paying  her 
homage,  and  feeling  no  jealousy  of  each  other  because  of  the 
attentions  the  coquettish  little  creature  lavished  equally  upon 
them. 

Our  story  leads  us  now  away  from  the  candle-box  to  the 
dining-room,  where  the  breakfast  was  served,  and  where  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  presided  in  handsome  morning-gown,  with  a  be 
coming  little  breakfast  cap,  which  concealed  the  curl-papers 
not  to  be  taken  out  till  later  in  the  day,  for  fear  of  damage  to 
the  glossy  curls  from  the  still  damp,  rainy  weather.  The  lady 
was  very  gracious  to  Roger,  and  remembering  the  penchant  he 
had  manifested  for  raspberry  jam,  she  asked  for  the  jar  and 
gave  him  a  larger  dish  of  it  than  she  did  to  Frank,  and  told 
him  he  was  looking  quite  rested,  and  then  proceeded  to  speak 
of  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  and  asked  if  they  met  his 
approbation.  Roger  would  acquiesce  in  whatever  she  thought 
proper,  he  said ;  and  he  swallowed  his  coffee  and  jam  hastily  to 
force  down  the  lumps  which  rose  in  his  throat  every  time  he 
remembered  what  was  to  be  that  afternoon.  The  undertakers 
came  in  to  see  that  all  was  right  while  he  was  at  breakfast,  and 
after  they  were  gone  Roger  went  to  the  darkened  chamber  for 
a  first  look  at  his  dead  father. 

Hester  was  with  him.  She  was  very  nervous  this  morning, 
and  hardly  seemed  capable  of  anything  except  keeping  close  to 
Roger.  She  knew  she  would  not  be  in  the  way,  even  in  the 
presence  of  the  dea  d ;  and  so  she  followed  him,  and  uncovered 
the  white  face,  and  cried  herself  a  little  when  she  saw  how  pas 
sionately  Roger  wept,  and  tried  to  soothe  him,  and  told  him 


THE  MORNING    OF   THE  FUNERAL.  35 

how  much  his  father  had  talked  of  him  the  last  few  weeks,  and 
how  he  had  died  in  the  very  act  of  writing  to  him. 

"  The  pen  was  in  his  hand,  right  over  the  words,  '  My  deaf 
Roger,'  Aleck  said,  for  he  found  him,  you  know ;  and  on  the 
table  lay  another  letter,  —  a  soiled,  worn  letter,  which  had  been 
wet  with  —  with  —  sea-water  —  " 

Hester  was  speaking  with  a  great  effort  now,  and  Roger  was 
looking  curiously  at  her. 

"  Whose  letter  was  it  ?  "  he  asked ;  and  Hester  replied : 

"  It  was  his, —  your  father's ;  and  it  came  from  —  her  —  your 
mother." 

With  a  low,  suppressed  scream,  Roger  bounded  to  Hester's 
side,  and,  grasping  her  shoulder,  said,  vehemently : 

"  From  mother,  Hester,  —  from  mother  I  Is  she  alive,  as  I 
have  sometimes  dreamed  ?  Is  she  ?  Tell  me,  Hester  ! " 

The  boy  was  greatly  excited,  and  his  eyes  were  like  burning 
coals  as  he  eagerly  questioned  Hester,  who  answered,  sadly  : 

"  No,  my  poor  boy  !  Your  mother  is  dead,  and  the  letter  was 
written  years  ago,  just  before  the  boat  went  down.  Your  father 
must  have  had  it  all  the  while,  though  I  never  knew  it  —  till  — 
well,  not  till  some  little  while  ago,  when  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was 
here  the  last  time.  I  overheard  him  telling  her  about  it,  and 
when  I  found  that  yellow,  stained  paper  on  the  table,  I  knew 
in  a  minute  it  was  the  letter,  and  I  kept  it  for  you,  with  the 
one  your  father  had  begun  to  write.  Shall  I  fetch  'em  now,  or 
will  you  wait  till  the  funeral  is  over  ?  I  guess  you  better  wait." 

This  Roger  could  not  do.  He  knew  but  little  of  his  moth 
er's  unfortunate  life.  He  could  not  remember  her,  and  all  his 
ideas  of  her  had  been  formed  from  the  beautiful  picture  in  the 
garret,  and  what  Hester  had  told  him  of  her.  Once,  when  a 
boy  of  eleven,  he  had  asked  his  father  what  it  was  about  his 
mother,  and  why  her  picture  was  hidden  away  in  the  garret,  and 
his  father  had  answered,  sternly  : 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  talk  about  her,  my  son.  She  may  not 
have  been  as  wicked  as  I  at  first  supposed,  but  she  disgraced 
you,  and  did  me  a  great  wrong." 


36  THE  MORNING   OF   THE  FUNERAL. 

And  that  was  all  Roger  could  gather  from  his  father  ;  while 
Hester  and  Aleck  were  nearly  as  reticent  with  regard  to  the 
dark  shadow  which  had  fallen  on  Millbank  and  its  proud  owner 

When,  therefore,  there  was  an  opportunity  of  hearing  directly 
from  the  mysterious  mother  herself,  it  was  not  natural  for  Rogei 
to  wait,  even  if  a  dozen  funerals  had  been  in  progress,  and  he 
demanded  that  Hester  should  bring  him  the  letters  at  once. 

"  Bring  them  into  this  room.  I  would  rather  read  mother's 
letter  here,"  he  said,  and  Hester  departed  to  do  his  bidding. 

She  was  not  absent  long,  and  when  she  returned  she  gave 
into  Roger's  hands  a  fresh  sheet  of  note-paper,  which  had  nevei 
been  folded,  together  with  a  soiled,  stained  letter,  which  looked 
as  if  some  parts  of  it  might  have  come  in  contact  with  the  sea. 

"  Nobody  knows  1  found  this  one  but  Aleck,  and,  perhaps, 
you  better  say  nothing  about  it,"  Hester  suggested,  as  she  passed 
him  poor  Jessie's  letter,  and  then  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

Roger  bolted  the  door  after  her,  for  he  would  not  be  dis 
turbed  while  he  read  these  messages  from  the  dead, — one  from 
the  erring  woman  who  for  years  had  slept  far  down  in  the  ocean 
depths,  and  the  other  from  the  man  who  lay  there  in  his  coffin. 
He  took  his  father's  first,  but  that  was  a  mere  nothing.  It 
only  read : 

' '  MILLBANK,  April  — . 

"Mv  DEAR  BOY — For  many  days  I  have  had  a  presenti 
ment  that  I  had  not  much  longer  to  live,  and,  as  death  begins 
to  stare  me  in  the  face,  my  thoughts  turn  toward  you,  my  deat 
Roger " 

Here  came  a  great  blot,  as  if  the  ink  had  dropped  from  the 
pen  or  the  pen  had  dropped  from  the  hand  ;  the  writing  ceased, 
and  that  was  all  there  was  for  the  boy  from  his  father.  But 
it  showed  that  he  had  been  last  in  the  thoughts  of  the  dead 
man,  and  his  tears  fell  fast  upon  his  father's  farewell  words. 
Then,  reverently,  carefully,  gently,  as  if  it  were  some  sea- 
wrecked  spectre  he  was  handling,  he  took  the  other  letter,  ex- 
perie;icii>£  a  kind  of  chilly  sensation  as  he  opened  it,  and  In- 


THE  MORNING  OF  THE  FUNERAL.        37 

haled  the  musty  odor  pervading  it.  The  letter  was  mailed  in 
New  York,  and  the  superscription  was  not  like  the  delicate 
writing  inside.  It  was  a  man's  chirography,  —  a  bold,  dashing 
hand,  —  and  for  a  moment  Roger  sat  studying  the  explicit  di 
rection  : 

"WILLIAM  H.  IRVING,  ESQ., 

"  'Millbank) 
"  BELVIDERE, 

"  CONN." 

Whose  writing  was  it,  and  how  came  the  letter  to  be  mailed 
in  New  York,  if,  as  Hester  had  said,  it  had  been  written  on 
board  the  ill-fated  "  Sea-Gull "  ?  Roger  asked  himself  th^  ques 
tion,  as  he  lingered  over  the  unread  letter,  till,  remembering 
that  the  inside  was  the  place  to  look  for  an  explanation,  he 
turned  to  the  first  page  and  began  to  read.  It  was  dated  on 
board  the  "  Sea-Gull,"  off  Cape  Hatteras,  and  began  as  follows  : 

"Mv  HUSBAND  :  —  It  would  be  mockery  for  me  to  put  the 
word  dear  before  your  honored  name.  You  would  not  believe 
I  meant  it,  —  I,  who  have  sinned  against  you  so  deeply,  and 
wounded  your  pride  so  sorely.  But,  oh,  if  you  knew  all  which 
led  me  to  what  I  am,  I  know  you  would  pity  me,  even  if  you 
condemned,  for  you  were  always  kind,  —  too  kind  by  far  to  a 
Avicked  girl  like  me.  But,  husband,  I  am  not  as  bad  as  you 
imagine.  T  have  left  you,  I  know,  and  left  my  darling  boy,  and 
he  is  here  with  me,  but  by  no  consent  of  mine.  I  tried  to 
escape  from  him.  I  am  not  going  to  Europe.  I  am  on  my  way 
to  Charleston,  where  Lucy  lives,  and  when  I  get  there  I  shall 
mail  this  letter  to  you.  Every  word  I  write  will  be  the  truth, 
and  you  must  believe  it,  and  teach  Roger  to  believe  it,  too ;  for 
I  have  not  sinned  as  you  suppose,  and  Roger  need  not  blush 
for  his  mother,  except  that  she  deserted  him  — " 

"  Thank  Heaven  ! "  dropped  from  Roger's  quivering  lips,  as 
the  suspected  evil  which,  as  he  grew  older,  he  began  to  fear  and 
shrink  from,  was  thus  swept  away. 

He  had  no  doubts,  no  misgivings  now,  and  his  tears  fell  like 


38  THE  MORNING   OF    THE  FUNERAL. 

rain  upon  poor  Jessie's  letter,  which  he  kissed  again  and  again, 
just  as  he  would  have  kissed  the  dear  face  of  the  writer  had  il 
been  there  beside  him. 

"  Mother,  mother  !"  he  sobbed,  "  I  believe  you  ;  oh,  mother^ 
if  you  could  have  lived  ! " 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  letter,  the  whole  of  which  it  is  not 
our  design  to  give  at  present.  It  embraced  the  history  of  Jes 
sie's  life  from  the  days  of  her  early  girlhood  up  to  that  night 
when  she  left  her  husband's  home,  and  closed  with  the  words  : 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  take  me  back.  I  know  that  can  never 
be ;  but  I  want  you  to  think  as  kindly  of  me  as  you  can,  and 
when  you  feel  that  you  have  fully  forgiven  me,  show  this  lettei 
to  Roger,  if  he  is  old  enough  to  understand  it.  Tell  him  to  for 
give  me,  and  give  him  this  lock  of  his  mother's  hair.  Heaven 
bless  and  keep  my  little  boy,  and  grant  that  he  may  be  a  com 
fort  to  you  and  grow  up  a  good  and  noble  man." 

The  lock  of  hair,  which  was  enclosed  in  a  separate  bit  of 
paper,  had  dropped  upon  the  carpet,  where  Roger  found  it,  his 
heart  swelling  in  his  throat  as  he  opened  the  paper  and  held 
upon  his  finger  the  coil  of  golden  hair.  It  was  very  long,  and 
curled  still  with  a  persistency  which  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  with  all 
her  papers,  could  never  hope  to  attain ;  but  the  softness  and 
brightness  were  gone,  and  it  clung  to  Roger's  finger,  a  streaked, 
faded  tress,  but  inexpressibly  dear  to  him  for  the  sake  of  her 
who  sued  so  piteously  for  his  own  and  his  father's  forgiveness. 

"When  you  feel  that  you  have  fully  forgiven  me,  show  this 
letter  to  Roger,  if  he  is  old  enough  to  understand  it." 

Roger  read  this  sentence  over  again,  and  drew  therefrom  this 
inference.  The  letter  had  never  been  shown  to  him,  therefore 
the  writer  had  not  been  forgiven  by  the  dead  man,  whose  face, 
even  in  the  coffin,  wore  the  stern,  inflexible  look  which  Roger 
always  remembered  to  have  seen  upon  it.  'Squire  Irving  had 
been  very  reserved,  and  very  unforgiving  too.  He  could  not 
easily  forget  an  injury  to  himself,  and  that  he  had  not  forgiven 
Jessie's  sin  was  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  had  never  given 
the  letter  to  his  son,  who,  for  a  moment,  felt  himself  growing 


THE  MORNING   OF   THE  FUNERAL.  39 

hard  and  indignant  toward  one  who  could  hold  out  against  the 
sweet,  piteous  pleadings  in  that  letter  from  poor,  unfortunate 
Jessie. 

"  But  I  forgive  you,  mother ;  I  believe  you  innocent.  ] 
bless  and  revere  your  memory,  my  poor,  poor,  lost  mother ! " 
Roger  sobbed,  as  he  kissed  the  faded  curl  and  kissed  the  sea- 
stained  letter. 

He  knew  now  how  it  came  to  be  mailed  in  New  York, 
and  shuddered  as  he  read  again  the  postscript,  written  by  a 
stranger,  who  said  that  a  few  hours  after  Jessie's  letter  was  fin 
ished,  a  fire  had  broken  out  and  spread  so  rapidly  that  all  com 
munication  with  the  life-boats  was  cut  off,  and  escape  seemed 
impossible  ;  that  in  the  moment  of  peril  Jessie  had  come  to  him 
with  the  letter,  which  she  asked  him  to  take,  and  if  he  escaped 
alive,  to  send  to  Millbank  with  the  news  of  her  death.  She 
also  wished  him  to  add  that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  what 
she  had  written  was  true ;  which  he  accordingly  did,  as  he  could 
"  not  do  otherwise  than  obey  the  commands  of  one  so  lovely  as 
Mrs.  Irving." 

"Curse  him;  curse  that  man!"  Roger  said,  between  his 
teeth,  as  he  read  the  unfeeling  lines ;  and  then,  in  fancy,  he  saw 
the  dreadful  scene  :  the  burning  ship,  the  fearful  agony  of  the 
doomed  passengers,  while  amid  it  all  his  mother's  golden  hair, 
and  white,  beautiful  face  appeared,  as  she  stood  before  hor  be 
trayer,  and  charged  him  to  send  her  dying  message  to  Millbank 
if  he  escaped  and  she  did  not. 

It  was  an  hour  from  the  time  Roger  entered  the  room  before 
he  went  out,  and  in  that  hour  he  seemed  to  himbelf  to  have 
grown  older  by  years  than  he  was  before  he  knew  so  much  of 
his  mother  and  had  read  her  benediction. 

"  She  was  pure  and  good,  let  others  believe  as  they  may,  and 
I  will  honor  her  memory  and  try  to  be  what  I  know  she  would 
like  to  have  me,"  he  said  to  Hester  when  he  met  her  alone, 
and  she  asked  him  what  he  had  learned  of  his  mother. 

Hester  had  read  the  letter  when  she  found  it.  It  was  not  in 
ner  nature  to  refrain,  and  she,  too  had  fully  exonerated  Jessie 


40  THE  MORNING   O*    THE  FUNERAL. 

and  cursed  the  man  who  had  followed  her,  even  to  her  hus 
band's  side,  with  his  alluring  words.  But  she  would  rather  thai 
Roger  should  not  know  of  the  liberty  she  had  taken,  and  so 
she  said  nothing  of  having  read  the  letter  first,  especially  as 
he  did  not  offer  to  show  it  to  her.  There  was  a  clause  in  what 
the  bad  man  had  written  which  might  be  construed  into  a  doubt 
of  some  portions  of  Jessie's  story,  and  Roger  understood  it; 
and,  while  it  only  deepened  his  hatred  of  the  man,  instead  of 
shaking  his  confidence  in  his  mother,  he  resolved  that  no  eye 
but  his  own  should  ever  see  the  whole  of  that  letter.  But  he 
showed  Hester  the  curl  of  hair,  and  asked  if  it  was  like  his 
mother's ;  and  then,  drawing  her  into  the  library,  questioned 
her  minutely  with  regard  to  the  past.  And  Hester  told  him  all 
she  thought  best  of  his  mother's  life  at  Millbank ;  —  of  the  scene 
in  the  bridal  chamber,  when  she  wept  so  piteously  and  said,  "  I 
did  not  want  to  come  here ; "  —  of  the  deep  sadness  in  her 
beautiful  face,  which  nothing  could  efface ;  —  of  her  utter  indif 
ference  to  the  homage  paid  her  by  the  people  of  Belvidere,  or 
the  costly  presents  heaped  upon  her  by  her  husband. 

"  She  was  always  kind  and  attentive  to  him,"  Hester  said ; 
"but  she  kept  out  of  his  way  as  much  as  possible,  and  I've 
seen  her  shiver  and  turn  white  about  the  mouth  if  he  just  laid 
his  hand  on  her  in  a  kind  of  lovin'  way,  you  know,  as  old  men 
will  have  toward  their  young  wives.  When  she  was  expectin' 
you,  it  was  a  study  to  see  her  sittin'  for  hours  and  hours  in  her 
own  room,  lookin'  straight  into  the  fire,  with  her  hands  clinched 
in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes  so  sad  and  cryin'  like  —  " 

"  Didn't  mother  want  me  born  ?  "  Roger  asked  with  quiver 
ing  lips ;  and  Hester  answered,  — 

"At  first  I  don't  think  she  did.  She  was  a  young  girlish 
thing ;  but,  after  you  came,  all  that  passed,  and  she  just  lived 
for  you  till  that  unlucky  trip  to  Saratoga,  when  she  was  never 
Jike  herself  again." 

11  You  were  with  her,  Hester.     Did  you  see  him  ?  " 

"  I  was  there  only  a  few  days,  and  you  was  took  sick.  The 
air  or  something  didn't  agree  with  you,  and  I  fetched  you  home. 


TKb   FUNERAL.  41 

Your  father  was  more  anxious  for  me  to  do  that  than  she  was. 
No,  I  didn't  see  him  to  know  him.  Your  mother  drew  a  crowd 
around  her  and  he  might  have  been  in  it,  but  I  never  seen  him. 

There  was  a  call  for  Roger,  and,  hiding  his  mother's  letter  h: 
a  private  drawer  of  the  writing-desk,  he  went  out  to  meet  tha 
gentlemen  who  were  to  take  charge  of  his  father's  funeral. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    FUNERAL. 

HERE  was  to  be  quite  a  display,  for  the  'Squire  had 
lived  in  Belvidere  for  forty  years.  He  was  the 
wealthiest  man  in  the  place,  —  the  one  who  gave  the 
most  to  every  benevolent  object  and  approved  of  every  public 
improvement.  He  had  bought  the  organ  and  bell  for  the 
church  in  the  little  village ;  he  had  built  the  parsonage  at  his 
own  expense,  and  half  of  the  new  town-house.  He  owned  the 
large  manufactory  on  the  river,  and  the  shoe-shop  on  the  hill ; 
and  the  workmen,  who  had  ever  found  him  a  kind,  considerate 
master,  were  going  to  follow  him  to  the  grave  together  with  the 
other  citizens  of  the  town.  The  weather,  however,  was  unpro- 
pitious,  for  the  rain  kept  steadily  falling,  and  by  noon  was  driv 
ing  in  sheets  across  the  river  and  down  the  winding  valley. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  hair,  though  kept  in  papers  until  the  early 
dinner,  at  which  some  of  the  village  magnates  were  present, 
came  out  of  curl,  and  she  was  compelled  to  loop  it  back  from 
her  face,  which  style  added  to  rather  than  detracted  from  her 
beauty.  But  she  did  not  think  so,  and  she  was  not  feeling  very 
amiable  when  she  went  down  to  dinner  and  met  young  Mr. 
Schofield,  the  old  lawyer's  son,  who  had  stepped  into  his  father's 
business  ^and  had  been  frequently  to  Millbank.  Marriage  was 
not  a  thing  which  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  contemplated.  She  liked 


42  THE  FUNERAl 

her  freedom  too  well,  but  she  always  liked  to  make  a  good 
impression,  —  to  look  her  very  best,  —  to  be  admired  by  gentle- 
men,  if  they  were  gentlemen  whose  admiration  was  worth  the 
having.  And  young  Schofield  was  worth  her  while  to  cultivate, 
and  in  spite  of  her  straightened  hair  he  thought  her  very  hand 
some,  and  stylish,  and  grand,  and  made  himself  very  agreeable 
at  the  table  and  in  the  parlor  after  the  dinner  was  over.  Ho 
knew  more  of  the  Squire's  affairs  than  any  one  in  Belvidere. 
He  was  at  Millbank  only  the  day  before  the  Squire  died,  and 
had  an  appointment  to  come  again  on  the  very  evening  of  his 
death. 

"  He  was  going  to  change  his  will ;  add  a  codicil  or  some 
thing,"  he  said,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  looked  up  uneasily  as 
she  replied,  — 

"  He  left  a  will,  then  ?     Do  you  know  anything  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,  madam.  And  if  I  did,  I  could  not  honorably  reveal 
my  knowledge,"  the  lawyer  answered,  a  little  stiffly;  while  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott,  indignant  at  herself  for  her  want  of  discretion,  bit 
her  lip  and  tapped  her  foot  impatiently  upon  the  carpet. 

It  was  time  now  for  the  people  to  assemble,  and  as  the  bell, 
which  the  squire  had  given  to  the  parish,  sent-  forth  its  sum 
mons,  the  villagers  came  crowding  up  the  avenue  and  soon 
filled  the  lower  portion  of  the  house,  their  damp,  steaming  gar 
ments  making  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  very  faint,  and  sending  her 
often  to  her  smelling-salts,  which  were  her  unfailing  remedy  for 
the  sickening  perfumes  which  she  fancied  were  found  only 
among  the  common  people  like  those  filling  the  rooms  at  Mill- 
bank, —  the  "factory  bugs"  who  smelt  of  wool,  and  the  "  shop 
hands"  who  carried  so  strong  an  odor  of  leather  wherever  they 
went.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  like  shoemakers  nor  factory 
nands,  and  she  sat  very  stiff  and  dignified,  and  looked  at  them 
contemptuously  from  behind  her  long  veil  as  they  crowded  into 
the  hall  and  drawing-room,  and  managed,  some  of  them,  to 
gain  access  to  the  kitchen  where  the  baby  was.  Her  story 
had  flown  like  lightning  through  the  town,  and  the  people  had 
discussed  it,  from  Mrs.  Johnson  and  her  set  down  to  Hester' t 


THE  FUNERAL.  43 

married  niece,  who  kept  the  little  public-house  by  the  toll-gate, 
and  who  had  seen  the  child  herself. 

"  It  was  just  like  Roger  Irving  to  bring  it  home,"  the  people 
all  agreed,  just  as  they  agreed  that  it  would  be  absurd  for  him  to 
keep  it. 

That  he  would  not  do  so  they  were  sure,  and  the  fear  that  it 
might  be  sent  away  before  they  had  a  look  at  it  brought  many 
a  woman  to  the  funeral  that  rainy,  disagreeable  day.  Baby  was 
Ruey's  charge  for  that  afternoon,  and  in  a  fresh  white  dress 
which  Hester  had  brought  from  the  chesl,  she  sat  in  her  candle- 
box,  surrounded  by  as  heterogeneous  a  mass  of  playthings  as 
were  ever  conjured  up  to  amuse  a  child.  There  was  a  silver- 
spoon,  and  a  tin  cup,  and  a  tea-canister,  and  a  feather  duster, 
and  Frank's  ball,  and  Roger's  tooth-brush,  and  some  false  hair 
which  Hester  used  to  wear  as  puffs  and  which  amused  the  baby 
more  than  all  the  other  articles  combined.  She  seemed  to  have 
a  fancy  for  tearing  hair,  and  shook  and  pulled  the  faded  wig  in 
high  glee,  and  won  many  a  kiss  and  hug  and  compliment  from 
the  curious  women  who  gathered  round  her. 

"  She  was  a  bright,  playful  darling,"  they  said,  as  they  left 
her  and  went  back  to  the  parlors  where  the  funeral  services 
were  being  read  over  the  cold,  stiff  form  of  Millbank's  late  pro 
prietor. 

Roger's  face  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
carpet,  where  he  saw  continually  one  of  two  pictures  —  his 
mother  standing  on  the  "Sea-Gull's"  deck,  or  sitting  before  the 
fire;  as  Hester  had  said  she  sat,  with  her  eyes  always  upon  one 
point,  the  cheerful  blaze  curling  up  the  chimney's  mouth. 

"  I'll  find  that  man  sometime.  I'll  make  him  tell  why  he  left 
that  doubt  to  torture  me,"  he  was  thinking,  just  as  the  closing 
hymn  was  sung  and  the  services  were  ended. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  think  it  advisable  to  go  to  the  grave, 
and  so  Hester  and  Aleck  went  in  the  carriage  with  Roger  and 
Frank,  the  only  relatives  in  all  the  long  procession  which  wcund 
down  the  avenue  and  through  the  lower  part  of  the  town  to 
where  the  tall  Irving  monument  showed  plainly  in  the  Belvi- 


44  THE  FUNERAL. 

dere  cemetery.  The  Squire's  first  wife  was  there  in  the  yard ; 
her  name  was  on  the  marble,  — "  Adeline,  beloved  wife  of 
William  H.  Irving;"  and  Walter  Scott's  name  was  there,  too, 
though  he  was  sleeping  in  Greenwood  ;  but  Jessie's  name  had 
not  been  added  to  the  list,  and  Roger  noticed  it,  and  wondered 
he  had  never  been  struck  by  the  omission  as  he  was  now,  and 
to  himself  he  said  :  "  I  can't  bring  you  up  from  your  ocean  bed, 
dear  mother,  and  put  you  here  where  you  belong,  but  I  can  do 
you  justice  otherwise,  and  I  will." 

Slowly  the  long  procession  made  the  circuit  of  the  cemetery 
and  passed  out  into  the  street,  where,  with  the  dead  behind 
them,  the  horses  were  put  to  greater  speed,  and  those  of  the  late 
Squire  Irving  drew  up  ere  long  before  the  door  of  Millbank. 
The  rain  was  over  and  the  April  sun  was  breaking  through  the 
clouds,  while  patches  of  clear  blue  sky  were  spreading  over  the 
heavens.  It  bade  fair  to  be  a  fine  warm  afternoon,  and  the  win 
dows  and  doors  of  Millbank  were  often  to  let  out  the  atmos 
phere  of  death  and  to  let  in  the  cheerful  sunshine.  Friendly 
hands  had  been  busy  to  make  the  house  attractive  to  the  mourn 
ers  when  they  returned  from  the  grave.  There  were  bright 
flowers  in  the  vases  on  the  mantel  and  tables,  the  furniture  was 
put  back  in  its  place,  the  drapery  removed  from  the  mirrors,  and 
the  wind  blew  softly  through  the  lace  curtains  into  the  hand 
some  rooms.  And  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  wrapped  in  her  scarlet 
shawl,  knew  she  looked  a  very  queen  as  she  trailed  her  long 
skirts  slowly  over  the  carpets,  and  thought  with  a  feeling  of  in 
tense  satisfaction  how  pleasant  it  was  at  Millbank  now,  and  how 
doubly  pleasant  it  would  be  later  in  the  season  when  her  changes 
and  improvements  were  completed.  She  should  not  fill  the 
house  with  company  that  summer,  she  thought.  It  would  not 
look  well  so  soon  after  the  Squire's  death,  but  she  would  have 
Mrs.  Chesterfield  there  with  her  sister  Grace,  and  possibly  Cap 
tain  Stanhope,  Grace's  betrothed.  That  would  make  quite  a 
gay  party,  and  excite  sufficiently  the  envy  and  admiration  of  the 
villagers.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  never  happy  unless  she  was 
envied  or  admired,  and  as  she  seemed  on  the  high  road  to  both 


THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  45 

these  conditions,  she  felt  very  amiable,  and  kind,  and  sweet- 
tempered  as  she  stood  in  the  door  waiting  to  receive  Roger  and 
Frank  when  they  returned  from  the  burial. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    EVENING   AFTER  THE    FUNERAL. 

JOUNG  SCHOFIELD  had  been  asked  by  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  to  return  to  Millbank  after  the  services  at  the 
grave  were  over.  She  haft  her  own  ideas  with  regard 
to  the  proper  way  of  managing  the  will  matter,  and  the  sooner 
the  truth  was  known  the  sooner  would  all  parties  understand 
the  ground  they  stood  on.  She  knew  her  ground.  She  had  no 
fears  for  herself.  The  will,  — Squire  Irving's  last  will  and  testa 
ment,  —  was  lying  in  his  private  drawer  in  the  writing  desk, 
where  she  had  seen  it  every  day  since  she  had  been  at  Millbank ; 
but  she  had  not  read  it,  for  the  envelope  was  sealed,  and  having 
a  most  unbounded  respect  for  law  and  justice,  and  fancying  that 
to  break  the  seal  would  neither  be  just  nor  lawful,  she  had  con 
tented  herself  with  merely  taking  the  package  in  her  hand,  and 
assuring  herself  that  it  was  safe  against  the  moment  when  it 
was  wanted.  It  had  struck  her  that  it  was  a  little  yellow  and 
time-worn,  but  she  had  no  suspicion  that  anything  was  wrong. 
To-day,  however,  while  the  people  were  at  the  grave,  she  had 
been  slightly  startled,  for  when  for  a  second  time  she  tried  the 
drawer  of  the  writing-desk,  she  found  it  locked  and  the  key 
gone !  Had  there  been  foul  play  ?  and  who  had  locked  the 
door  ?  she  asked  herself,  while,  for  a  moment,  the  cold  perspir 
ation  stood  under  her  hair.  Then  thinking  it  probable  that 
Roger,  who  was  noted  for  thoughtfulness,  might  have  turned 
and  taken  the  key  to  his  father's  private  drawer  as  a  precaution 
against  any  curious  ones  who  might  be  at  the  funeral,  she  dis- 


4f>  THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL. 

missed  her  fears  and  waited  calmly  for  the  denouement,  a3 
another  individual  was  doing, — Hester  Floyd, — who  knew 
about  the  sealed  package  just  as  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did,  and  who 
had  been  deterred  from  opening  it  for  the  same  reason  which 
had  actuated  that  lady,  and  who  had  also  seen  and  handled  it 
each  day  since  the  squire's  death. 

Hester,  too,  knew  that  the  drawer  was  locked,  and  that  gave 
her  a  feeling  of  security,  while  on  her  way  to  and  from  the 
grave,  where  her  mind  was  running  far  more  upon  the  after-clap, 
as  she  termed  it,  than  upon  the  solemn  service  for  the  dead. 
Hester  was  very  nervous,  and  an  extra  amount  of  green  tea  was 
put  in  the  steeper  for  her  benefit,  and  she  could  have  shaken 
the  unimpressible  Aleck  for  seeming  so  composed  and  uncon 
cerned  when  he  stood,  as  she  said,  "right  over  a  dreadful, 
gapin'  vertex." 

And  Aleck  was  unconcerned.  Whatever  he  had  lent  his  aid 
to  had  been  planned  by  his  better  half,  in  whom  he  had  un 
bounded  confidence.  If  she  stood  over  "  a  gapin'  vertex,"  she 
had  the  ability  to  skirt  round  it  or  across  it,  and  take  him  safely 
with  her.  So  Aleck  had  no  fears,  and  ate  a  hearty  supper  and 
drank  his  mug  of  beer  and  smoked  his  pipe  in  quiet,  and  heard, 
without  the.  least  perturbation,  the  summons  for  the  servants  to 
assemble  in  the  library  and  hear  their  master's  last  will  and 
testament.  This  was  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  idea,  and  when  tea 
was  over  she  had  said  to  young  Schofield  : 

"You  told  me  father  left  a  will.  Perhaps  it  would  be  well 
enough  for  you  to  read  it  to  us  before  you  go.  I  will  have  the 
servants  in,  as  they  are  probably  remembered  in  it." 

Her  manner  was  very  deferential  toward  young  Schofield  and 
implied  confidence  in  his  abilities,  and  flattered  by  attention  from 
so  great  a  lady  he  expressed  himself  as  at  her  service  for  any 
thing.  So  when  the  daylight  was  gone  and  the  wax  candles 
were  lighted  in  the  library,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  repaired  thither 
with  Frank,  whom  she  had  brought  from  his  post  by  the  candle- 
box.  It  was  natural  that  he  should  be  present  as  well  as  Roger, 
and  she  arranged  the  two  boys,  one  on  each  side  of  her,  and 


THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  47 

motioned  tne  servants  to  seats  across  the  room,  and  Lawyer 
Schofield  to  the  arm-chair  near  the  centre  of  the  room.  She 
was  making  it  very  formal  and  ceremonious,  and  Englishy,  and 
Roger  wondered  what  it  was  all  for,  while  Frank  fidgeted  and 
longed  for  the  candle-box,  where  the  baby  lay  asleep. 

"I  am  told  Squire  Irving  left  a  will,"  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  said, 
when  her  auditors  were  assembled,  "  and  I  thought  best  for  Mr. 
Schofield  to  read  it.  Do  you  know  where  it  is  ?  "  and  she  ad 
dressed  herself  to  the  lawyer,  who  replied,  "  I  am  sure  I  do  not, 
unless  in  his  private  drawer  where  he  kept  his  important 
papers." 

Roger  flushed  a  little  then,  for  it  was  into  that  private  drawer 
that  he  had  put  his  mother's  letter,  and  the  key  was  in  his  pocket. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  noticed  the  flush,  but  was  not  quite  prepared 
to  see  Roger  arise  at  once,  unlock  the  drawer,  and  take  from 
it  a  package,  which  was  not  the  will,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
excited  her  curiosity. 

"  Lawyer  Schofield  can  examine  the  papers,"  Roger  said, 
resuming  his  seat,  while  the  young  man  went  to  the  drawer  and 
took  out  the  sealed  envelope  which  both  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
and  Hester  had  had  in  their  hands  so  many  times  within  the* 
last  few  days. 

"WILLIAM  H.  IRVING'S  LAST  WILL  AND  TESTAMENT." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  its  being  the  genuine  article,  and 
the  lawyer  waited  a  moment  before  opening  it.  There  was 
perfect  silence  in  the  room,  except  for  the  clock  on  the  mantle, 
which  ticked  so  loudly  and  made  Hester  so  nervous  that  she 
almost  screamed  aloud.  The  candles  sputtered  a  little,  and  ran 
up  long,  black  wicks,  and  the  fire  on  the  hearth  cast  weird 
shadows  on  the  wall,  and  the  silence  was  growing  oppressive, 
when  Frank,  who  could  endure  no  longer,  pulled  his  mother's 
skirts,  and  exclaimed,  "  Mother,  mother,  what  is  he  going  to  do, 
and  why  don't  he  do  it  ?  I  want  the  darned  thing  over  so  1 
can  go  out." 

That  broke  the  spell,  and  Lawyer  Schofield  began  to  read 


48  THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL. 

Squire  living's  last  will  and  testament.  It  was  dated  five  years 
before,  at  a  time  when  the  Squire  lay  on  his  sick  bed,  from 
which  he  never  expected  to  rise,  and  not  long  after  his  purchase 
of  the  house  on  Lexington  Avenue  for  Mrs.  Walter  Scott. 
There  was  mention  made  of  his  deceased  son  having  received 
his  entire  portion,  but  the  sum  of  four  hundred  dollars  was  an 
nually  to  be  paid  for  Frank's  education  until  he  was  of  age, 
when  he  was  to  receive  from  the  estate  five  thousand  dollars  to 
"  set  himself  up  in  business,  provided  that  business  had  nothing 
to  do  with  horses." 

The  old  man's  aversion  to  the  rock  on  which  his  son  had 
split  was  manifest  even  in  his  will,  but  no  one  paid  any  heed 
to  it  then.  They  were  listening  too  eagerly  to  the  reading  of 
the  document,  which,  after  remembering  Frank,  and  leaving  a 
legacy  to  the  church  in  Belvidere,  and  another  to  an  orphan 
asylum  in  New  York,  and  another  to  his  servants,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  Aleck  and  Hester,  gave  the  whole  of  the  Irving 
possessions,  both  real  and  personal,  to  the  boy  Roger,  who  was 
as  far  as  possible  from  realizing  that  he  was  the  richest  heir  for 
miles  and  miles  around.  He  was  feeling  sorry  that  Frank  had 
not  fared  better,  and  wondering  why  Aleck  and  Hester  had 
not  been  remembered.  They  were  witnesses  of  the  will,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  Hester's  straight  up  and  down  letters, 
or  Aleck's  back-hand. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  confounded,  —  utterly,  totally  con 
founded,  and  for  a  moment  deprived  of  her  powers  of  speech. 
That  she  had  not  listened  to  the  Squire's  last  will  and  testa 
ment, —  that  there  was  foul  play  somewhere,  she  fully  believed, 
and  she  scanned  the  faces  of  those  present  to  find  the  guilty 
one.  But  for  the  fact  that  Aleck  and  Hester  were  not  remem 
bered  in  this  will,  she  might  have  suspected  them  ;  but  the  omis 
sion  of  their  names  was  in  their  favor,  while  the  stolid,  almost 
stupid  look  of  Aleck's  face,  was  another  proof  of  his  innocence. 
Hester,  too,  though  slightly  restless,  Appeared  as  usual.  No 
body  showed  guilt  but  Roger,  whose  face  had  turned  very  red. 
and  was  very  red  still  as  he  sat  fidgeting  in  his  chair  and  looking 


THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  49 

hard  at  Frank.  The  locked  drawer  and  the  package  taken 
from  it,  recurred  now  to  the  lady's  mind,  and  made  her  sure 
that  Roger  had  the  real  will  in  his  pocket ;  and,  in  a  choking 
voice,  she  said  to  the  lawyer,  as  he  was  about  to  congratulate 
the  boy  on  his  brilliant  fortune  :  "  Stop,  please,  Mr.  Schofield  ; 
I  think  —  yes,  I  know  —  there  was  another  will  —  a  later  one 
—  in  which  matters  were  reversed  —  and  —  and  Frank  —  was 
the  heir." 

Her  words  rang  through  the  room,  and,  for  an  instant,  those 
who  heard  them  sat  as  if  stunned.  Roger's  face  was  white  now, 
instead  of  red,  but  he  didn't  look  as  startled  as  might  have  been 
expected.  He  did  not  realize  that  if  what  his  sister  said  was 
true,  he  was  almost  a  beggar ;  —  he  only  thought  how  much 
better  it  was  for  Frank,  toward  whom  he  meant  to  be  so  gen 
erous  ;  and  he  looked  kindly  at  the  little  white-haired  boy  who 
had,  in  a  certain  sense,  come  up  as  his  rival.  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  had  risen  from  her  chair  and  locked  the  door  ;  then,  go 
ing  to  the  table  where  the  laAvyer  was  sitting,  she  stood  leaning 
upon  it,  and  gazing  fixedly  at  Roger.  The  lawyer,  greatly 
surprised  at  the  turn  matters  were  taking,  said  to  her  a  little 
sarcastically :  "I  fancied,  from  something  you  said,  that  you 
did  not  know  there  was  a  will  at  all.  Why  do  you  think  there 
was  a  later  one?  Did  you  ever  see  it,  and  why  should  Squire 
Irving  do  injustice  to  his  only  son?" 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  detected  in  the  lawyer's  tone  that  he  had 
forsaken  her,  and  it  added  to  her  excitement,  making  her  so 
far  forget  her  character  as  a  lady,  that  her  voice  was  raised  to 
an  unnatural  pitch,  and  shook  with  anger  as  she  replied,  "  I 
never  saw  it,  but  I  know  there  was  one,  and  that  your  father 
drew  it.  It  was  made  some  months  ago,  when  I  was  visiting  at 
Millbank.  I  went  to  Boston  for  a  few  days,  and  when  I  came 
back,  Squire  Irving  told  me  what  he  had  done." 

"Who  witnessed  the  will?"  the  lawyer  asked. 

"That  I  do  not  know.  I  only  know  there  was  one,  and  that 
Frank  was  the  heir." 

"  A  most  unnatural  thing  to  cut  off  his  own  son  for  a  grand- 
S 


50  THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL. 

child  whose  father  had  already  received  his  portion,"  young 
Schofield  said ;  and,  still  more  exasperated,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
replied,  "  I  do  not  know  that  Roger  was  cut  off.  I  only  know 
that  Frank  was  to  have  Millbank,  with  its  appurtenances,  and 
I'll  search  this  room  until  I  find  the  stolen  paper.  What  was 
that  you  took  from  the  drawer,  boy  ?  " 

Roger  was  awake  now  to  the  situation.  He  understood  that 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  believed  his  father  had  deprived  him  of 
Millbank,  the  beautiful  home  he  loved  so  much,  and  he  under 
stood  another  fact,  which,  if  possible,  cut  deeper  than  disin 
heritance.  She  suspected  him  of  stealing  the  will.  The  Irving 
blood  in  the  boy  was  roused.  His  eyes  were  not  like  Jessie's 
now,  but  flashed  indignantly  as  he,  too,  rose  to  his  feet,  and, 
confronting  the  angry  woman,  demanded  what  she  meant. 

"  Show  me  that  paper  in  your  pocket,  and  tell  me  why  that 
drawer  was  locked  this  morning,  and  why  you  had  the  key," 
she  said ;  and  Roger  replied,  "  You  tried  the  drawer  then,  it 
seems,  and  found  it  locked.  Tell  me,  please,  what  business 
you  had  with  my  father's  private  drawer  and  papers  ?  " 

"  I  had  the  right  of  a  daughter, —  an  older  sister,  whose  busi 
ness  it  was  to  see  that  matters  were  kept  straight  until  some 
head  was  appointed,"  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  said,  and  then  she 
asked  again  for  the  package  which  Roger  had  taken  from  the 
drawer. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitancy  on  Roger's  part;  then, 
remembering  that  she  could  not  compel  him  to  let  her  read  his 
mother's  farewell  message,  he  took  the  sea-stained  letter  from 
his  pocket  and  said  : 

"  It  was  from  my  mother.  She  wrote  it  on  the  "  Sea-Gull," 
just  before  it  took  fire.  It  was  found  on  the  table  where  father 
sat  writing  to  me  when  he  died.  I  believe  he  was  going  to 
send  it  to  me.  At  all  events  it  is  mine  now,  and  I  shall  keep 
it.  Hester  gave  it  to  me  this  morning,  and  I  put  it  in  the  pri 
vate  drawer  and  took  the  key  with  me.  I  knew  nothing  of  this 
will,  or  any  other  will,  except  that  father  always  talked  as  if  I 
would  have  Millbank,  and  told  me  of  some  improvements  it 


THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  51 

would  be  well  to  make  in  the  factory  and  shoe-shop  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  should  he  not  live  so  long.  Are  you 
satisfied  with  my  explanation  ! " 

He  was  looking  at  the  lawyer,  who  replied  : 

"  I  believe  you,  boy,  just  as  I  believe  that  Squire  Irving  de 
stroyed  his  second  will,  if  he  ever  made  one,  which,  without 
any  disrespect  intended  to  the  lady,  I  doubt,  though  she  may 
have  excellent  reasons  for  believing  otherwise.  It  would  have 
been  a  most  unnatural  thing  for  a  father  to  cast  off  with  a  leg 
acy  his  only  son,  and  knowing  Squire  Irving  as  I  did,  I  cannot 
think  he  would  do  it." 

The  lawyer  had  forsaken  the  lady's  cause  entirely,  and 
wholly  forgetting  herself  in  her  wrath  she  burst  out  with  — 

"As  to  the  sonship  there  may  be  a  question  of  doubt,  and  if 
such  doubt  ever  crept  into  Squire  Irving' s  mind  he  was  not  a 
man  to  rest  quietly,  or  to  leave  his  money  to  a  stranger." 

Roger  had  not  the  most  remote  idea  what  the  woman  meant, 
and  the  lawyer  only  a  vague  one ;  but  Hester  knew,  and  she 
sprang  up  like  a  tiger  from  the  chair  where  she  had  hitherto 
sat  a  quiet  spectator  of  what  was  transpiring. 

"  You  woman,"  she  cried,  facing  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  with  a 
fiery  gleam  in  her  gray  eyes,  "  if  I  could  have  my  way,  I'd  turn 
you  out  of  doors,  bag  and  baggage.  If  there  was  a  doubt,  who 
hatched  it  up  but  you,  you  sly,  insinuatin'  critter.  I  overheard 
you  myself  working  upon  the  weak  old  man,  and  hintin'  things 
you  orto  blush  to  speak  of.  There  was  no  mention  made  of  a 
will  then,  but  I  know  now  that  was  what  you  was  up  to,  and  if 
he  was  persuaded  to  the 'bominable  piece  of  work  which  this 
gentleman,  who  knows  law  more  than  I  do,  don't  believe,  and 
then  destroyed  it,  —  as  he  was  likely  to  do  when  he  came  to 
himself,  —  and  you,  with  your  snaky  ways,  was  in  New  York,  it 
has  served  you  right,  and  makes  me  think  more  and  more  that 
the  universal  religion  is  true.  Not  that  I've  anything  special 
agin'  Fiank,  whose  wust  blood  he  got  from  you,  but  that  Roger 
should  be  slighted  by  his  own  father  is  too  great  a  dose  to 
swaller,  and  I  for  one  shan't  stay  any  longer  in  the  same  room 


$2  THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL. 

with  you  ;  so  hand  me  the  key  to  the  door  which  you  locked 
when  you  thought  Roger  had  the  will  in  his  pocket.  Maybe 
you'd  like  to  search  the  hull  co -boodle  of  us.  You  are  wel 
come  to,  I'm  sure." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  a  good  deal  taken  aback  with  thi? 
tirade.  She  had  heard  some  truths  from  which  she  shrank,  and, 
glad  to  be  rid  of  Hester  on  any  terms,  she  mechanically  held 
out  the  key  to  the  door. 

But  here  the  lawyer  interposed,  and  said  : 

"  Excuse  me,  one  moment,  please.  Mrs.  Floyd,  do  you  re 
member  signing  this  will  which  I  have  read  in  your  hearing  ?  " 

"  Perfectly ; "  and  Hester  snapped  her  words  off  with  an  em 
phasis.  "  The  master  was  sick  and  afraid  he  might  die,  and  he 
sent  for  your  father,  who  was  alone  with  him  a  spell,  and  then 
he  called  me  and  my  old  man  in,  and  said  we  was  to  be  wit 
nesses  to  his  will,  and  we  was,  Aleck  and  me." 

"It  was  strange  father  did  not  remember  you,  who  had  lived 
with  him  so  long,"  Roger  suggested,  his  generosity  and  sense 
of  justice  overmastering  all  other  emotions. 

"  If  he  had  they  could  not  have  been  witnesses,"  the  lawyer 
said,  while  Hester  rejoined  : 

"  It  ain't  strange  at  all ;  for  only  six  weeks  before,  he  had 
given  us  two  thousand  dollars  to  buy  the  tavern  stand  down  by 
the  toll-gate,  where  we've  set  my  niece  Martha  up  in  business, 
who  keeps  as  good  a  house  as  there  is  in  Belvidere ;  so  you  see 
that's  explained,  and  he  gave  us  good  wages  always,  and  kept 
raisin',  too,  till  now  we  have  jintly  more  than  some  ministers/ 
with  our  vittles  into  the  bargain." 

Hester  was  exonerating  her  late  master  from  any  neglect  of 
herself  and  Aleck,  and  in  so  doing  she  made  the  lawyer  forget 
to  ask  if  she  had  ever  heard  of  a  second  will  made  by  Squire 
Irving.  The  old  lawyer  Schofield  would  have  done  so,  but 
the  son  was  young  and  inexperienced,  and  not  given  to  sus 
pecting  everybody.  Besides  that,  he  liked  Roger.  He  knew 
it  was  right  that  he  should  be  the  heir,  and  believed  he 
vras,  and  that  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  altogether  mistaken  in 


THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  53 

her  ideas.  Still  he  suggested  that  there  could  be  no  harm  in 
searching  among  the  squire's  papers.  And  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
did  search,  assisted  by  Roger,  who  told  her  of  a  secret  drawer 
in  the  writing  desk  and  opened  it  himself  for  her  inspection, 
finding  nothing  there  but  a  time-worn  letter  and  a  few  faded 
flowers,  —  lilies  of  the  valley,  —  which  must  have  been  worn  in 
Jessie's  hair,  for  there  was  a  golden  thread  twisted  in  among 
the  faded  blossoms.  That  secret  drawer  was  the  sepulchre  of 
all  the  love  and  romance  of  the  old  squire's  later  marriage, 
and  it  seemed  to  both  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  and  Roger  like  a 
grave  which  they  had  sacrilegiously  invaded.  So  they  closed 
it  reverently,  with  its  withered  blossoms  and  mementos  of  a 
past  which  never  ought  to  have  been.  But  afterward,  Roger 
went  back  to  the  secret  drawer,  and  took  therefrom  the  flow 
ers,  and  the  letter  written  by  Jessie  to  her  aged  suitor  a  few 
weeks  before  her  marriage.  These,  with  the  letter  written  on 
the  sea,  were  sacred  to  him,  and  he  put  them  away  where  no 
curious  eyes  could  find  them.  There  had  been  a  few  words  of 
consultation  between  Roger  and  Lawyer  Schofield,  and  then, 
with  a  hint  that  he  was  always  at  Roger's  service,  the  lawyer 
had  taken  his  leave,  remarking  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  as  he  did 
so  : 

"  I  thought  you  would  •  find  yourself  mistaken ;  still  you 
might  investigate  a  little  further." 

He  meant  to  be  polite,  but  there  was  a  tinge  of  sarcasm  in 
his  tone,  which  the  lady  recognized,  and  inwardly  resented. 
She  had  fallen  in  his  opinion,  and  she  knew  it,  and  carried  her 
self  loftily  until  he  said  to  Roger,  — 

"  I  had  an  appointment  to  meet  your  father  in  his  library  the 
very  evening  he  died.  He  wished  to  make  a  change  in  his 
will,  and  I  think,  perhaps,  he  intended  doing  better  by  the 
young  boy,  Frank.  At  least,  that  is  possible,  and  you  may 
deem  it  advisable  to  act  as  if  you  knew  that  was  his  intention, 
/ou  have  an  immense  amount  of  money  at  your  command,  foi 
your  father  was  the  richest  man  in  the  county." 

Frank  had  long  ago  gone  back  to  the  kitchen  and  the  baby. 


54  THE  EVENING  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL. 

He  had  no  special  interest  in  what  they  were  talking  about, 
nor  was  it  needful  that  he  should  have.  He  was  safe  with 
Roger,  who,  to  the  lawyer's  suggestion,  replied  : 

"  I  shall  do  Frank  justice,  as  I  am  sure  he  would  have  done 
me,  had  the  tables  been  reversed." 

The  lawyer  bowed  himself  out,  and  Roger  was  alone  with  his 
sister-in-law,  who  looked  so  white,  and  injured,  and  disap 
pointed,  that  he  felt,  to  say  the  least,  very  uncomfortable  in 
her  presence.  He  had  not  liked  her  manner  at  all,  and  had 
caught  glimpses  of  a  far  worse  disposition  than  he  had  thought 
she  possessed,  while  he  was  morally  certain  that  she  was  ready 
and  willing  to  trample  on  all  his  rights,  and  even  cast  him 
aloof  from  his  home  if  she  could.  Still,  he  would  rather  be  on 
friendly  terms  with  her,  for  Frank's  sake,  if  for  no  other,  and 
so  he  went  up  to  her,  and  said  : 

"  I  know  you  are  disappointed  if  you  really  believed  father 
had  left  the  most  of  his  money  to  Frank." 

"I  don't  believe.  I  know;  and  there  has  been  foul  play 
somewhere.  He  told  me  he  had  made  another  will,  here  in 
this  very  room." 

"  Helen,"  Roger  said,  calling  her,  as  he  seldom  did,  by  her 
Christian  name,  and  having  in  his  voice  more  of  sorrow  than 
anger  —  "  Helen,  why  did  father  wish  to  serve  me  so,  when  he 
was  always  so  kind  ?  What  reason  did  he  give  ?  " 

Roger's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  there  was  a  grieved  look 
in  his  face  as  he  waited  his  sister's  answer.  Squire  Irving  had 
given  her  no  reason  for  the  unjust  act.  She  had  given  the 
reason  to  him,  making  him  for  a  time  almost  a  madman,  but 
she  could  not  give  that  reason  to  the  boy,  although  she  had  in 
a  moment  of  passion  hinted  at  it,  and  drawn  down  Plester's  ven 
geance  on  her  head.  If  he  had  not  understood  her  then,  she 
would  not  wound  him  now  by  the  cruel  suspicion.  Thus  rea 
soned  the  better  nature  of  the  woman,  while  her  mean,  grasp 
ing  spirit  suggested  that  in  case  the  will  was  not  found,  it  would 
be  better  to  stand  well  in  Roger's  good  opinion.  So  she 
replied,  very  blandly  and  smoothly  : 


MILLBANK  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  5.5 

"  After  your  father  had  given  my  husband  his  portion,  he 
grew  much  richer  than  he  had  ever  been  before,  and  I  suppose 
he  thought  it  was  only  fair  that  Frank  should  have  what  would 
have  come  to  his  father  if  the  estate  had  been  equally  divided. 
I  never  supposed  you  were  cut  off  entirely ;  that  would  have 
been  unnatural." 

Roger  was  not  satisfied  with  this  explanation,  for  sharing 
equally  with  Frank,  and  being  cut  off  with  only  a  legacy,  were 
widely  different  things,  and  her  words  at  one  time  had  implied 
that  the  latter  was  the  case.  He  did  not,  however,  wish  to 
provoke  her  to  another  outburst ;  and  so,  with  a  few  words  to 
the  effect  that  Frank  should  not  suffer  at  his  hands,  he  bade  his 
sister  good-night,  and  repaired  to  his  own  room.  He  had 
passed  through  a  great  deal,  and  was  too  tired  and  excited  to 
care  even  for  the  baby  that  night ;  and,  when  Hester  knocked 
at  his  door,  he  answered  that  he  could  not  see  her,  —  she  must 
wait  until  to-morrow.  So  Hester  went  away,  saying  to  her 
self: 

"  He's  a  right  to  be  let  alone,  if  he  wants  to  be,  for  he  is 
now  the  master  of  Millbank." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MILLBANK   AFTER  THE    DAY   OF    THE    FUNERAL. 

RS.  WALTER  SCOTT  could  not  easily  give  up  her 
belief  in  a  later  will,  and  after  everything  about  the 
house  was  quiet,  and  the  tired  inmates  asleep,  she 
went  from  one  vacant  room  to  another,  her  slippered  feet 
treading  lightly  and  giving  back  no  sound  to  betray  her  to  any 
listening  ear,  as  she  glided  through  the  lower  rooms,  and  then 
ascended  to  the  garret,  where  was  a  barrel  of  old  receipts  and 
letters,  and  papers  of  no  earthly  use  whatever.  These  she  ex- 


$6  MILLBANK  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL. 

amined  minutely,  but  in  vain.  The  missing  document  was  not 
there,  and  she  turned  to  Jessie's  picture,  and  was  just  bending 
down  for  a  look  at  that,  when  a  suddea  noise  startled  her,  and, 
turning  round,  she  saw  a  head,  surmounted  by  a  broad-frilled 
cap,  appearing  up  the  stairway.  It  was  Hester's  head,  and 
Hester  herself  came  into  full  view,  with  a  short  night-gown  on, 
and  her  feet  encased  in  a  pair  of  Aleck's  felt  slippers,  which, 
being  a  deal  too  big,  clicked  with  every  step,  and  made  the 
noise  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  first  heard. 

"  Oh,  you're  at  it,  be  you  !  "  Hester  said,  putting  her  tallow 
candle  down  on  the  floor.  "  I  thought  I  heard  somethin' 
snoopin'  round,  and  got  up  to  see  what  'twas.  I  guess  I'll 
hunt  too,  if  you  like,  for  I'm  afraid  you  might  set  the  house 
afire." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I'm  through  with  my  search  for  to-night,"  was 
Mrs.  Walter  Scotf  s  lofty  answer,  as  she  swept  down  the  garret 
stairs  past  Hester  Floyd  and  into  her  own  room. 

There  was  a  bitter  hatred  existing  between  these  two  women 
now,  and  had  the  will  been  found,  Hester's  tenure  at  Millbank 
would  have  hung  upon  a  very  slender  thread.  But  the  will 
was  not  found,  neither  that  night  nor  the  next  day,  when 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  searched  openly  and  thoroughly  with  Roger 
as  her  aid,  for  which  Hester  called  him  a  fool,  and  Frank,  who 
was  beginning  to  get  an  inkling  of  matters,  a  "  spooney." 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  outgeneralled,  and  the  second  day  after 
the  funeral  she  took  her  departure  and  went  back  to  Lexington 
Avenue,  where  her  first  act  was  to  dismiss  the  extra  servant 
she  had  hired  when  Millbank  seemed  in  her  grasp,  while  her 
second  was  to  countermand  her  orders  for  so  much  mourning. 

If  Squire  Irving  had  left  her  nothing,  she,  of  course,  had 
nothing  to  expend  in  crape  and  bombazine,  and  when  she  next 
appeared  on  Broadway,  there  were  pretty  green  strings  on  her 
straw  hat,  and  a  handsome  thread-lace  veil  in  place  of  the  long 
crape  which  had  covered  her  face  at  the  funeral.  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  had  dropped  back  into  her  place  in  New  York,  and  for  a 
little  time  our  story  has  -no  more  to  do  with  her  ladyship,  but 


MILLBANK  AFTER    THE  FUNERAL.  $? 

keeps  us  at  Millbank,  where  Roger,  with  Col.  Johnson  as  his 
guardian,  reigned  the  triumphant  heir. 

As  was  natural,  the  baby  was  the  first  object  considered  aftei 
the  excitement  of  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  departure  had  subsided. 
What  should  be  done  with  it  ?  Col.  Johnson  asked  Roger  this 
question  in  Hester's  presence,  and  Roger  answered  at  once,  "  I 
shall  keep  her  and  educate  her  as  if  she  were  my  sister.  If 
Hester  feels  that  the  care  will  be  too  much  for  her,  I  will  get  a 
nurse  till  the  child  is  older." 

"  Yes  ;  and  then  I'll  have  both  nuss  and  baby  to  'tend  to," 
Hester  exclaimed.  "  If  it  must  stay,  I'll  see  to  it  myself,  with 
Ruey's  help.  I  can't  have  a  nuss  under  foot,  doin'  nothin'." 

This  was  not  exactly  what  Roger  wanted.  He  had  not  yet 
lost  sight  of  that  picture  of  the  French  nurse  in  a  cap,  to  whom 
Hester  did  not  bear  the  slightest  resemblance ;  but  he  saw  that 
Hester's  plan  was  better  than  his,  and  quietly  gave  up  the 
French  nurse  and  the  pleasant  nursery,  but  he  ordered  the  crib, 
and  the  baby-wagon  and  the  bright  blanket  with  it,  and  then 
he  said  to  Hester,  "  Baby  must  have  a  name,"  adding  that 
once,  when  the  woman  in  the  cars  was  hushing  it,  she  had 
called  it  something  which  sounded  like  Magdalen.  "That  you 
know  was  mother's  second  name,"  he  said.  "  So  suppose  we 
call  her  'Jessie  Magdalen;'"  but  against  that  Hester  arrayed 
herself  so  fiercely  that  he  gave  up  "  Jessie,"  but  insisted  upon 
"  Magdalen,"  and  added  to  it  his  own  middle  name,  "  Lennox." 

There  was  a  doubt  in  his  mind  as  to  whether  she  had  ever 
been  baptized,  and  thinkirg  it  better  to  be  baptized  twice 
than  not  at  all,  he  determined  to  have  the  ceremony  per 
formed,  and  Mrs.  Col.  Johnson  consented  to  stand  as  sponsor 
for  the  child,  whom  Hester  carried  to  the  church,  performing 
well  her  part  as  nurse,  and  receiving  back  into  her  arms  the 
little  Magdalen  Lennox,  who  had  crowed,  and  laughed,  and 
put  her  fat  hand  to  her  head,  to  wipe  off  the  drops  of  water 
which  fell  upon  her  as  she  was  "received  into  Christ's  flock 
arid  signed  with  His  sign  "  upon  her  brow. 

During  the  entire  summer    Roger  remained  at    Millbank^ 


58  MILLBANK  AFTER    THE   FUNERAL. 

where  he  made  a  few  changes,  both  in  the  grounds  and  in  th« 
house,  which  began  to  wear  a  more  modern  look  than  during 
the  old  squire's  life.  Some  of  the  shrubbery  was  rooted  up, 
and  a  few  of  the  oldest 'trees  cut  down,  so  that  the  sunshine 
could  find  freer  access  to  the  rooms,  which  had  rarely  been  used 
since  Jessie  went  away,  but  which  Roger  opened  to  the  warmth 
and  sunlight  of  summer.  On  the  wall,  in  the  library,  Jessie's 
picture  was  hung.  It  had  been  retouched  and  brightened  up 
in  Springfield,  and- the  beautiful  face  always  seemed  to  smile  a 
welcome  on  Roger  whenever  he  came  where  it  was.  On  the 
monument  in  the  graveyard  Jessie's  name  was  cut.  beneath  her 
husband's,  and  every  Saturday  Roger  carried  a  bouquet  of 
llowers  from  the  Millbank  garden,  and  laid  it  on  the  grassy 
mound,  in  memory,  not  so  much  of  his  father,  as  of  the  young 
mother  whose  grave  was  in  the  sea.  Thither  he  sometimes 
brought  little  Magdalen,  who  could  walk  quite  easily  now,  and 
it  was  not  an  uncommon  sight,  on  pleasant  summer  days,  to 
see  the  boy  seated  under  the  evergreens  which  overshadowed 
his  father's  grave,  while  toddling  among  the  gray  head-stones 
of  the  dead,  or  playing  in  the  gravel-walks,  was  Magdalen,  with 
her  blanket  pinned  about  her  neck,  and  her  white  sun-bonnet 
tied  beneath  her  chin.  Thus  the  summer  passed,  and  in  the 
autumn  Roger  went  away  to  Andover,  where  he  was  to  finish 
preparing  for  college,  instead  of  returning  to  his  old  tutor  in 
St.  Louis.  After  his  departure,  the  front  rooms  above  and 
below  were  closed,  and  Magdalen,  who  took  more  kindly  to 
the  parlors  than  to  the  kitchen,  was  taught  that  such  things 
were  only  for  her  when  Master  Roger  was  at  home ;  and  if,  by 
chance,  she  stole  through  an  open  door  into  the  forbidden 
rooms,  she  was  brought  back  at  once  to  her  corner  in  the 
kitchen.  Not  roughly  though,  for  Hester  Floyd  was  always 
kind  to  the  child, — first,  for  Roger's  sake,  and  then  for  the 
affection  she  herself  began  to  feel  for  the  little  one,  whose 
beauty,  and  bright,  pretty  ways  everybody  praised. 
.  And  now,  while  the  doors  and  shutters  of  Millbank  are 
closed,  and  only  the  rear  portion  of  the  building  is  open,  we 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BELVIDERE.  $9 

pass,  without  comment,  over  a  period  of  eleven  years,  and 
open  the  story  again,  on  a  bright  day  in  summer,  when  the  sky 
was  as  blue  and  the  air  as  bland  as  was  the  air  and  sky  of 
Italy,  where  Roger  Irving  was  travelling. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    STRANGER   IN   BELVIDERE. 

j|URING  the  eleven  years  since  her  disappointment, 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  never  once  been  to  Millbank. 
She  had  seen  the  house  several  times  from  the  car 
window  as  she  was  whirled  by  on  her  way  to  Boston,  and  she 
managed  to  keep  a  kind  of  oversight  of  all  that -was  transpiring 
there,  but  she  never  crossed  the  threshold,  and  had  said  she 
never  would.  Frank,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  frequent  visitor 
there.  He  bore  no  malice  to  its  inmates  on  account  of  the 
missing  will.  Roger  had  been  very  generous  with  him,  allowing 
him  more  than  the  four  hundred  a  year,  and  assisting  him  out  of 
many  a  "  deuced  scrape,"  as  Frank  termed  the  debts  he  was 
constantly  incurring,  with  no  ostensible  way  of  liquidating  them 
except  through  his  Uncle.  Roger.  He  called  him  uncle  fre 
quently  for  fun,  and  Roger  always  laughed  good-humoredly 
upon  his  fair-haired  nephew,  whom  he  liked  in  spite  of  his 
many  faults. 

Frank  was  now  at  Yale  ;  but  he  was  no  student,  and  would 
have  left  college  the  very  first  year  but  for  Roger,  who  had 
more  influence  over  him  than  any  other  living  person.  Frank 
believed  in  Roger,  and  listened  to  him  as  he  would  listen  to  no 
one  else,  and  when  at  last,  with  his  college  diploma  and  his 
profession  as  a  lawyer,  won,  Roger  went  for  two  or  three  years' 
travel  in  the  old  world,  Frank  felt  as  if  his  anchorage  was 
swept  away  and  he  was  left  to  float  wherever  the  tide  and  his 


60  THE  STRANGER  IN  BELVIDERE. 

own  vacillating  disposition  might  take  him.  The  most  of  his 
vacations  were  spent  at  Millbank,  where  he  hunted  in  the 
grand,  old  woods,  with  Magdalen  trudging  obediently  at  his  side 
\n  the  capacity  of  game  carrier,  or  fished  in  the  creek  or  river, 
with  Magdalen  to  carry  the  worms  and  put  them  on  his  hook. 
Frank-  was  lazy,  —  terribly,  fearfully  lazy,  —  and  whatever  ser 
vice  another  would  render  him,  he  was  ready  to  receive.  So 
Magdalen,  whose  hands  and  feet  never  seemed  to  tire,  minis 
tered  willingly  to  the  city-bred  young  man,  who  teased  her 
about  her  dark  face  and  pulled  her  wavy  hair,  and  laughed  at 
her  clothes  with  the  Hester  stamp  upon  them,  and  called  her 
a  little  Gypsy,  petting  her  one  moment,  and  then  in  a  moody 
tit  sending  her  away  "  to  wait  somewhere  within  call,"  until  he 
wanted  her.  And  Magdalen,  who  never  dreamed  of  rebelling 
from  the  slavery  in  which  he  held  her  when  at  Millbank,  looked 
forward  with  eager  delight  to  his  coming,  and  cried  when  he 
went  away. 

Rogp--  she  held  in  the  utmost  veneration  and  esteem,  regard 
ing  him  as  something  more  than  mortal.  She  had  never  car 
ried  the  game-bag  for  him,  or  put  worms  upon  his  hook,  for  he 
neither  fished  nor  hunted ;  but  she  used  to  ride  with  him  on 
horseback,  biting  her  lips  and  winking  hard  to  keep  down  her 
tears  and  conquer  her  fear  of  the  spirited  animal  he  bade  her 
ride.  She  would  have  walked  straight  into  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius  if  Roger  had  told  her  to,  and  at  his  command  she 
tried  to  overcome  her  mortal  terror  of  horses,  —  to  sit  and  ride, 
and  carry  her  reins  and  whip  as  he  taught  her,  until  at  last  she 
grew  accustomed  to  the  big  black  horse,  and  Roger's  com 
mendations  of  her  skill  in  managing  it  were  a  sufficient  recom 
pense  for  weary  hours  of  riding  through  the  lanes,  and  mead 
ows,  and  woods  of  Millbank. 

So,  too,  when  Roger  gave  her  a  Latin  grammar  and  bade 
her  learn  its  pages,  she  set  herself  at  once  to  the  task,  studying 
day  and  night,  and  growing  feverish  and  thin,  and  nervous, 
until  Hester  interfered,  and  said  "  a  child  of  ten  was  no  more 


TH£  STRANGER  IN  BELVIDERE.  6 1 

fit  to  study  Latin  than  she  was  to  build  a  ship,  and  Roger 
must  let  her  alone  till  she  was  older  if  he  did  not  want  to  kill 
her." 

Then  Roger,  who  in  his  love  for  books  had  forgotten  thai 
children  did  not  all  possess  his  tastes  or  powers  of  endurance, 
put  the  grammar  away  and  took  Magdalen  with  him  to  New 
York  to  a  scientific  lecture,  of  which  she  did  not  understand  a 
word,  and  during  which  she  went  fast  asleep  with  her  head  on 
his  shoulder,  and  her  queer  little  straw  bonnet  dreadfully 
jammed  and  hanging  down  her  back.  Roger  tied  on  her 
bonnet  when  the  lecture  was  over,  and  tried  to  straighten  the 
pinch  in  front,  and  never  suspected  that  it  was  at  all  different 
from  the  other  bonnets  arour,J  him.  The  next  night  he  took 
her  to  Niblo's,  where  she  nearly  went  crazy  with  delight;  and 
for  weeks  after,  her  little  room  at  Millbank  was  the  scene  of 
many  a  pantomime,  as  she  tried  to  reproduce  for  Bessie's 
benefit  the  wonderful  things  she  had  seen. 

That  was  nearly  two  years  before  the  summer  day  of  which 
we  write.  She  had  fished  and  hunted  with  Frank  since  then, 
and  told  him  of  Niblo's  as  of  a  place  he  had  never  seen,  and 
said  good-by  to  Roger,  who  was  going  off  to  Europe,  and  who 
had  enjoined  upon  her  sundry  things  she  was  to  do  during  his 
absence,  one  of  which  was  always  to  carry  the  Saturday's 
bouquet  to  his  father's  grave.  This  practice  Roger  had  kept 
up  ever  since  his  father  died,  taking  the  flowers  himself  when 
he  was  at  home,  and  leaving  orders  for  Hester  to  see  that  they 
were  sent  when  he  was  away.  Magdalen,  who  had  frequently 
been  with  him  to  the  grave-yard,  knew  that  the  Jessie  whose 
name  was  on  the  marble  was  buried  in  the  sea,  for  Roger  had 
told  her  of  the  burning  ship,  and  the  beautiful  woman  who 
went  down  with  it.  And  with  her  shrewd  perceptions,  Magda 
len  had  guessed  that  the  flowers  offered  weekly  to  the  dead 
were  more  for  the  mother,  who  was  not  there,  than  for  the 
father,  who  was.  And  after  Roger  went  away  she  adopted  the 
plan  of  taking  with  her  two  bouquets,  one  large  and  beautiful 


62  THE  STRANGER    IN  BELVIDERE. 

for  Jessie,  and  a  smaller  one  for  the  old  squire,  whose  picture 
on  the  library-wall  she  did  not  altogether  fancy. 

A  visit  to  the  cemetery  was  always  one  of  the  duties  of  Sat 
tirday,  and  toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  on  a  bright 
day  in  July,  Magdalen  started  as  usual  with  her  basket  of 
flowers  on  her  arm.  She  liked  going  to  that  little  yard  where 
the  shadows  from  the  evergreens  fell  so  softly  upon  the  grass, 
and  the  white  rose-bush  which  Roger  had  planted  was  climb 
ing  up  the  tall  monument  and  shedding  its  sweet  perfume  on 
the  air.  There  was  an  iron  chair  in  the  yard,  where  Magdalen 
sat  down,  and  divesting  herself  of  her  shoes  and  stockings, 
cooled  her  bare  feet  on  the  grass  and  hummed  snatches  of 
songs  learned  from  Frank,  who  affected  to  play  the  guitar  and 
accompany  it  with  his  voice.  And  while  she  is  sitting  there 
we  will  give  a  pen-and-ink  photograph  of  her  as  she  was  at 
twelve  years  of  age.  A  straight,  lithe  little  figure,  with  head 
set  so  erect  upon  her  shoulders  that  it  leaned  back  rather  than 
forward.  A  full,  round  face,  with  features  very  regular,  except 
the  nose,  which  had  a  slight  inclination  upward,  and  which 
Frank  teasingly  called  "a  turn-up."  Masses  of  dark  hair, 
which  neither  curled  nor  lay  straight  upon  the  well-shaped  head, 
but  rippled  in  soft  waves  all  over  it,  and  was  kept  short  in  the 
neck  by  Hester,  who  "  didn't  believe  much  in  hair,"  and  who 
often  deplored  Magdalen's  "  heavy  mop,"  until  the  child  was 
old  enough  to  attend  to  it  herself.  A  clear,  brown  complexion, 
with  a  rich,  healthful  tint  on  cheek  and  lip,  and  a  fairer,  lighter 
coloring  upon  the  low,  wide  forehead ;  dark,  hazel  eyes,  which, 
under  strong  excitement,  would  grow  black  as  night  and  flash 
forth  fiery  gleams,  but  which  ordinarily  were  soft  and  mild 
and  bright,  as  the  stars  to  which  Frank  likened  them.  The 
eyes  were  the  strongest  point  in  Magdalen's  face,  and  made 
her  very  handsome  in  spite  of  the  outlandish  dress  in  which 
Hester  always  arrayed  her,  and  the  rather  awkward  manner  in 
which  she  carried  her  hands  and  elbows.  Hester  ignored 
fashions.  If  Magdalen  was  only  clean  and  neat,  that  was  all 
she  thought  necessary,  and  she  put  the  child  in  clothes  old 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BEL  VIDE  RE.  63 

enough  fur  herself,  and  Frank  often  ridiculed  the  queer-look 
ing  dresses  buttoned  up  before,  and  far  too  long  for  a  girl  of 
Magdalen's  age. 

Except  for  Frank's  *~asing  remarks,  Magdalen  would  have 
cared  very  little  for  her  personal  appearance,  and  as  he  was  in 
New  Haven  now  she  was  having  a  nice  time  alone  in  the 
cemetery,  with  her  shoes  and  stockings  off  to  cool  her  feet,  and 
her  bonnet  off  to  cool  her  head,  round  which  her  short,  damp 
hair  was  curling  more  than  usual.  She  was  thinking  of  Jessie, 
and  wondering  how  she  happened  to  be  on  the  ocean,  and 
where  she  was  going,  and  she  did  not  at  first  see  the  stranger 
coming  down  the  walk  in  the  direction  of  the  yard  where 
she  was  sitting.  He  was  apparently  between  fifty  and  sixty, 
for  his  hair  was  very  gray,  and  there  were  deep  cut  lines  about 
his  eyes  and  mouth ;  but  he  was  very  fine-looking  still,  and  a 
man  to  be  noticed  and  commented  upon  among  a  thou 
sand. 

He  was  coming  directly  to  Squire  Irving' s  lot,  where  he 
stood  a  moment  with  his  hand  upon  the  iron  fence  before 
Magdalen  saw  him.  With  a  blush  and  a  start  she  sprang  up, 
and  tried,  by  bending  her  knees,  to  make  her  dress  cover  hei 
bare  feet,  which,  nevertheless,  were  plainly  visible,  as  she 
modestly  answered  the  stranger's  questions. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss,"  he  said,  touching  his  hat  to  her 
as  politely  as  if  she  had  been  a  princess,  instead  of  a  barefoot 
girl.  "You  have  chosen  a  novel,  but  very  pleasant  place  for 
an  afternoon  reverie.  Whose  yard  is  this,  and  whose  little 
girl  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  Mr.  Roger's  little  girl,  and  this  is  Squire  Irving' s  lot. 
That's  his  monument,"  Magdalen  replied;  and  at  the  sound  of 
her  voice  and  the  lifting  up  of  her  eyes  the  stranger  looked 
curiously  at  her. 

"  What  is  your  name,  and  what  are  you  doing  here  ? "  he 
asked  her  next;  and  she  replied,  "I  came  with  flowers  for  the 
grave.  I  bring  them  every  Saturday,  and  my  name  is  Mag 
dalen." 


64  THE  STRANGER  IN  BEL  VIDERE. 

This  time  the  stranger  started,  and  without  waiting  to  go 
round  to  the  gate,  sprang  over  the  iron  fence  and  came  te 
Magdalen's  side. 

"  Magdalen  whom  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Magdalen  Rogers  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  Magdalen  Lennox.  I  haven't  any  father  nor 
mother,  and  I  live  up  at  Millbank.  You  can  just  see  it 
through  the  trees.  Squire  Irving  used  to  live  there,  but  since 
he  died  it  belongs  to  Mr.  Roger,  and  he  has  gone  to  Europe, 
and  told  me  to  bring  flowers  every  Saturday  to  the  graves. 
That's  his  father,"  she  continued,  pointing  to  the  squire's 
name,  "and  that,"  pointing  to  Jessie's  name,  "is  his  mother; 
only  she  is  not  here,  you  know.  She  died  on  the  sea." 

If  the  stranger  had  not  been  interested  before,  he  was  now, 
and  he  went  close  to  the  stone  where  Jessie's  name  was  cut, 
and  stood  there  for  a  moment  without  saying  a  word  to  the 
little  girl  at  his  side.  His  back  was  toward  her,  and  she  could 
not  see  his  face  until  he  turned  to  her  again,  and  said,  — 

"And  you  live  there  at  Millbank,  where — where  Mrs.  Irv 
ing  did.  You  certainly  could  not  have  been  there  when  she 
died." 

Magdalen  colored  scarlet,  and  stood  staring  at  him  witli 
those  bright,  restless,  eager  eyes,  which  so  puzzled  and  per 
plexed  him.  She  had  heard  from  Hester  some  cf  the  pa<ticu- 
lars  of  her  early  life,  while  from  her  young  girl  friends  she  had 
heard  a  great  deal  more  which  distressed  and  worried  her,  and 
sent  her  at  last  to  Roger  for  an  explanation.  And  Roger, 
thinking  it  was  best  to  do  so,  had  told  her  the  whole  truth,  and 
given  into  her  keeping  the  locket  which  she  had  worn 
about  her  neck,  and  the  dress  in  which  she  came  to  Millbank. 
She  was  old  enough  to  understand  in  part  her  true  position, 
and  she  was  very  sensitive  with  regard  to  her  early  history. 
That  there  was  something  wrong  about  both  her  parents,  she 
knew;  but  still  there  was  a  warm,  tender  spot  in  her  heart 
for  her  mother,  who,  Roger  had  said,  bent  over  her  with 
a  kiss  and  a  few  whispered  words  of  affection,  ere  abandon 
ing  her  in  the  cars.  Magdalen  could  sometimes  feel  that  kiss 


THE  STRANGER  IN  BELVIDERE.  6$ 

upon  her  cheek  and  see  the  restless,  burning  eyes  which  Roger 
described  so  minutely.  There  was  a  look  like  them  in  her  own 
eyes,  and  she  was  glad  of  it,  and  glad  her  hair  was  dark  and 
glossy,  as  Roger  said  her  mother's  was.  She  was  proud  to  look 
like  her  mother ;  though  she  was  not  proud  of  her  mother,  and 
she  never  mentioned  her  to  any  one  save  Roger,  or  alluded  to 
the  time  when  she  had  been  deserted.  So  when  the  stranger's 
words  seemed  to  ask  how  long  she  had  been  at  Millbank,  she 
hesitated,  and  at  last  replied  : 

"  Of  course  I  was  not  born  when  Mrs.  Irving  died.  I'm 
only  twelve  years  old.  I  was  a  poor  little  girl,  with  nobody  to 
care  for  me,  and  Mr.  Roger  took  me  to  live  with  him.  He  is 
not  very  old,  though.  He  is  only  twenty-six  ;  and  his  nephew 
Frank  is  twenty-one  in  August." 

The  stranger  smiled  upon  the  quaint,  old-fashioned  little  girl, 
whose  eyes,  fastened  so  curiously  upon  him,  made  him  slightly 
uneasy. 

"  Magdalen,"  he  said  at  last,  but  more  as  if  speaking  to  him 
self  and  repeating  a  name  which  had  once  been  familiar  to  him. 

"  What,  sir  ?  "  was  Magdalen's  reply,  which  recalled  him  back 
to  the  present. 

He  must  say  something  to  her,  and  so  he  asked : 

"  Who  gave  you  the  name  of  Magdalen  ?  It  is  a  very  pretty 
name." 

There  was  a  suavity  and  winning  graciousness  in  his  manner, 
which,  young  as  she  was,  Magdalen  felt,  and  it  inclined  her  to 
be  more  familiar  and  communicative  than  she  would  otherwise 
have  been  to  a  stranger. 

"It  was  her  second  name,"  she  said,  touching  the  word 
Jessie  on  the  marble.  "And  Mr.  Roger  gave  it  to  me  when  I 
'went  to  live  with  him." 

"Then  you  were  named  for  Mrs.  Irving?"  and  the  stranger 
involuntarily  drew  a  step  nearer  to  the  little  girl,  on  whose  hair 
his  hand  rested  for  a  moment.  "  Do  they  talk  much  of  her  at 
Millbank  ?  " 

"No;  nobody  but  Mr.  Roger,  when  he  is  at  home.     Her 


66  THE  STRANGER  IN  BELVIDERE. 

picture  is  in  the  library,  and  I  think  it  is  so  lovely,  with  the 
pearls  on  her  neck  and  arms,  and  the  flowers  in  her  hair.  She 
must  have  been  beautiful." 

"Yes,  very  beautiful,"  fell  mechanically  from  the  stranger's 
lips  ;  and  Magdalen  asked,  in  some  surprise  :  "  Did  you  know 
her,  sir?" 

"I  judge  from  your  description,"  was  the  reply;  and  then  he 
asked  "  if  the  flowers  were  for  Mrs.  Irving." 

''•  The  large  bouquet  is.  I  always  make  a  difference,  because 
I  think  Mr.  Roger  loved  her  best,"  Magdalen  said. 

Just  then  there  came  across  the  fields  the  sound  of  the  village 
clock  striking  the  hour  of  five,  and  Magdalen  started,  exclaim 
ing,  "I  must  go  now;  Hester  will  be  looking  for  me." 

The  stranger  saw  her  anxious  glance  at  her  stockings  and 
shoes,  and  thoughtfully  turned  his  back  while  she  gathered  them 
up  and  thrust  them  into  her  basket. 

"You'd  better  put  them  on,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  the 
disposition  she  had  made  of  them.  "  The  gravel  stones  will 
hurt  your  feet,  and  there  may  be  thistles,  too." 

He  seemed  very  kind  indeed,  and  walked  to  another  en 
closure,  while  Magdalen  put  on  her  stockings  and  shoes  and 
then  arose  to  go.  She  thought  he  would  accompany  her  as  far 
as  the  highway,  sure,  and  began  to  feel  a  little  elated  at  the 
prospect  of  being  seen  in  company  with  so  fine  a  gentleman  by 
old  Bettie,  the  gate-keeper,  and  her  granddaughter  Lottie. 
But  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  the  spot. 

"  This  is  a  very  pretty  cemetery ;  I  believe  I  will  walk  about 
a  little,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  that  the  girl  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  him. 

Magdalen  knew  this  was  intended  as  a  dismissal,  and  walked 
rapidly  away.  Pausing  at  the  stile  over  which  she  passed  into 
the  street,  she  looked  back  and  saw  the  stranger,  —  not  walking 
about  the  grounds,  but  standing  by  the  monument  and  appar 
ently  leaning  his  head  upon  it.  Had  she  passed  that  place  an 
hour  later,  she  would  have  missed  from  its  cup  of  water  the 
largest  bouquet,  the  one  she  had  brought  for  Mrs.  Irving,  and 


A  STIR  AT  MILLS ANK.  6j 

would  have  missed,  too,  the  half-open  rose  which  hung  very 
near  Jessie's  name.  But  she  would  have  charged  the  theft  to 
the  children  by  the  gate,  who  sometimes  did  rob  the  grave  of 
flowers,  and  not  to  the  splendid-looking  man  with  the  big  gold 
chain,  who  had  spoken  so  kindly  to  her,  and  of  whom  her  head 
was  full  as  she  went  back  to  Millbank,  where  she  was  met  by 
Hester  with  an  open  letter  in  her  hand,  bearing  a  foreign  post 
mark. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   STIR   AT  MILLBANK. 


HE  letter  was  from  Roger,  and  in  her  eagerness  to 
hear  from  him,  Magdalen  forgot  the  stranger  who  had 
asked  so  many  questions. 

Roger  was  in  Dresden,  and  very  well ;  but  his  letter  did  not 
relate  so  much  to  himself  and  his  journeyings  as  to  matters 
at  home.  Frank,  who  had  visited  Millbank  in  April,  had  writ 
ten  to  Roger  a  not  very  satisfactory  account  of  Hester's  man 
agement  of  Magdalen. 

"  The  girl  is  growing  up  a  perfect  Hottentot,  with  no  more 
manners  or  style  than  Dame  Floyd  herself;  and  it  seems  a 
pity,  when  she  is  so  bright  and  capable  and  handsome,  and 
might  with  proper  training  make  a  splendid  woman.  But 
what  can  you  expect  of  her,  brought  up  by  that  superan 
nuated  Hester,  who  keeps  her  in  the  most  outlandish  clothes 
I  ever  saw,  and  lets  her  go  barefoot  half  the  time,  till  her 
feet  are  spreading  so,  that  after  a  little  they  will  be  as  flat 
and  broad  as  a  mackerel.  Besides  that,  I  saw  her  trying  to 
milk,  which  you  know  will  spoil  her  hands  sooner  than  any 
thing  else  in  creation.  My  advice  is  that  you  send  her  to 
school,  say  here  to  New  Haven,  if  you  like.  Mrs.  Dana's  is  a 
splendid  school  for  young  ladies.  I  would  write  at  once  to 


68  A  STIR  AT  MILLBANK. 

Mrs.  Floyd  if  I  were  you.  And,  Roger,  for  thunder's  sake,  tell 
her  to  let  Mrs.  Johnson  or  her  daughter  see  to  Maggie's  ward 
robe.  She  would  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  town  if  she  were 
to  come  here  rigged  out  ti  la  Floyd." 

This  and  much  more  Frank  had  written  to  Roger,  who,  in  a 
milder  form,  wrote  it  back  to  Hester,  telling  her  that  Magdalen 
must  go  away,  and  suggesting  New  Haven  as  a  proper  place 
where  to  send  her. 

Hester  was  a  very  little  indignant  when  she  read  this  letter, 
which,  without  directly  charging  her  with  neglect,  still  implied 
that  in  some  things  concerning  Magdalen  she  had  been  remiss, 
and  to  Bessie,  the  housemaid,  she  was  freeing  her  mind  pretty 
thoroughly  when  Magdalen  came  in  and  began  to  question  her 
eagerly  with  regard  to  Roger,  and  to  ask  if  the  letter  was  for 
her. 

"No,"  Hester  replied,  "but  it's  about  you.  I'm  too  old- 
fashioned  to  fetch  you  up  any  longer,  and  you've  got  to  be  sent 
away.  The  district  school  ain't  good  enough,  and  you  are  to 
go  to  New  Haven  and  learn  manners,  and  not  go  barefoot,  nor 
milk,  and  put  your  feet  and  hands  out  of  shape.  Haven't  I  told 
you  forty  times,  Magdalen  Lennox,  to  put  on  your  shoes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  fifty,"  Magdalen  replied,  in  that  peculiar  winning  way 
which  she  had  of  conciliating  Hester  when  in  one  of  her  quer 
ulous  moods.  "What  is  it  about  my  hands  and  feet,  let  me 
see  ?  " 

And  coming  close  to  Hester,  she  laid  one  hand  soothingly 
on  the  old  woman's  shoulder,  and  with  the  other  took  Roger's 
letter,  which  she  read  through  from  beginning  to  end ;  then, 
with  a  passionate  exclamation,  she  threw  it  from  her,  saying : 

"  It  is  Frank  who  put  Mr.  Roger  up  to  this.  I  won't  go 
away  from  Millbank  to  horrid  old  New  Haven,  where  the  girls 
sit,  and  walk,  and  act  just  so,  with  their  elbows  in  and  their 
toes  out.  I  hate  New  Haven,  I  hate  Frank,  I  hate  everybody 
but  you." 

Magdalen's  eyes  were  flashing,  and  her  hand  deepened  its 
grasp  on  Hester,  who  cast  upon  the  young  girl  a  look  whict 


A  STIR  AT  MILLBANK.  69 

told  how  full  of  love  her  old  heart  was  for  the  child  whom  she 
had  cared  for  and  watched  over  since  the  night  she  first  came 
to  Millbank.  No  one  could  live  with  Magdalen  and  not  love 
her.  Generous,  outspoken,  and  wholly  truthful,  warm-hearted 
and  playful  as  a  kitten,  she  had  wound  herself  around  every 
fibre  of  Hester's  heart,  until  the  woman  hardly  knew  which 
was  dearer  to  her,  —  Magdalen  or  Roger.  She  would  miss 
the  former  most.  Millbank  would  be  very  lonely  without 
those  busy  little  bare  feet  of  which  Roger  disapproved,  and 
that  blithe,  merry  voice  which  filled  the  house  with  melody, 
and  it  was  partly  a  dread  of  the  loneliness  which  Magdalen's 
absence  would  leave  which  prompted  Hester  to  such  an  out 
burst  as  had  followed  the  reading  of  Roger's  letter;  and  when 
Magdalen  took  up  the  theme,  vehemently  declaring  she  would 
never  go  to  New  Haven,  Hester  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  and  pride 
in  the  girl  who  preferred  her  to  New  Haven  and  its  stylish 
young  ladies. 

Her  soberer  second  thoughts,  however,  were  that  Roger's 
wishes  would  have  to  be  considered,  and  Magdalen  be  obliged 
to  yield.  But  Magdalen  thought  differently  and  persisted  in  say 
ing  she  would  never  go  to  New  Haven,  and  subject  herself  to 
the  criticisms  of  that  Alice  Grey,  about  whom  Frank  had  talked 
so  much  on  his  last  visit  to  Millbank. 

He  had  only  stayed  a  day  or  two,  and  Magdalen  had  thought 
him  changed,  and,  as  she  fancied,  not  for  the  better.  He  had 
always  teased  her  about  her  grandmotherly  garb,  but  his  teas- 
ings  this  time  were  more  like  earnest  criticisms,  and  he  was 
never  tired  of  holding  up  Alice  Grey  as  a  model  for  ail 
young  girls  to  imitate.  She  was  very  pretty,  he  said,  with  soft 
blue  eyes  and  rich  brown  hair,  which  was  almost  a  chestnut,  and 
she  had  such  graceful,  lady-like  manners,  that  all  the  college 
boys  were  more  in  love  with  her,  —  a  little  maiden  of  fourteen, 
• — than  with  the  older  young  ladies  in  Miss  Dana's  school. 

Heretofore,  when  Frank  had  visited  Millbank,  Magdalen  had 
been  all  in  all,  and  she  resented  his  frequent  allusion  to  one 
whom  he  seemed  to  consider  so  superior  to  herself,  and  felt 


7O  A   STIR  AT  MILLBANK. 

relieved  when  he  went  back  to  his  Alice,  with  her  chestnut  hair, 
and  her  soft  blue  eyes,  and  wax-like  complexion. 

Magdalen  hated  her  own  dark  skin  for  a  little  after  that,  and 
taught  by  Bessie,  tried  what  frequent  washings  in  buttermilk 
would  do  for  it ;  but  Hester's  nose,  which  had  a  most  remark 
able  knack  for  detecting  smells  even  where  none  existed,  soon 
ferreted  out  the  hidden  jar  containing  Magdalen's  cosmetic,  and, 
all  hopes  of  a  complexion  like  Alice  Grey's  were  swept  away 
with  the  buttermilk  which  the  remorseless  Hester  threw  into  the 
pig-pen  as  its  most  fitting  place.  After  a  while  the  fever  sub 
sided,  and  Alice  Grey  ceased  to  trouble  Magdalen  until  she 
was  brought  to  mind  by  Roger's  letter. 

That  she  would  not  go  to  New  Haven,  Magdalen  was  re 
solved.  If  Roger  wanted  her  to  try  some  other  school  she 
would,  she  said,  but  New  Haven  was  not  to  be  considered  for 
a  moment ;  and  so  Hester  wrote  to  Roger  an  account  of  the 
manner  with  which  his  proposition  had  been  received,  and 
asked  him  to  suggest  some  other  school  for  his  ward. 

In  her  excitement  Magdalen  had  entirely  forgotten  the 
stranger  in  the  graveyard,  nor  was  he  recalled  to  her  mind  un 
til  the  next  day,  when,  with  Hester  Floyd,  she  walked  demurely 
to  the  little  church  where  she  was  in  the  habit  of  worshipping. 
It-  was  a  beautiful  morning,  and  the  air  was  laden  with  the 
sweet  perfume  of  the  clover  blossoms  and  the  new-mown  hay, 
and  Magdalen  looked  unusually  bright  and  pretty  in  her  light 
French  calico  and  little  white  sack,  which  the  village  dress 
maker  had  made,  and  which  bore  a  more  modern  stamp  than 
was  usual  to  Hester's  handiwork.  Her  shoes  and  stockings 
were  all  right  this  time,  and  her  hands  were  encased  in  a  pair 
of  cotton  gloves,  which,  though  a  deal  too  large,  were  neverthe 
less  gloves,  and  kept  her  hands  from  tanning.  And  Magdalen, 
with  her  prayer-book  and  sprig  of  caraway,  felt  very  nice  as  she 
went  up  the  aisle  to  Squire  Irving's  pew,  where,  in  imitation  of 
Hester  she  dropped  on  her  knees  and  said  her  few  words  of 
prayer,  while  her  thoughts  v/ere  running  upon  the  gentleman  ia 


A  STIR  AT  MILLBANK.  J\ 

front,  the  stranger  of  the  graveyard,  who  turned  his  head  as 
she  came  in  with  a  half  nod  of  recognition. 

He  seemed  very  devout  as  the  services  proceeded,  and  nevei 
had  Magdalen  heard  any  one  respond  so  loud  in  the  Psalter,  or 
seen  any  one  bow  so  low  in  the  Creed  as  he  did ;  while  in  the 
chants  and  psalms  he  almost  drowned  the  choir  itself,  as  his 
head  went  up  and  back  as  if  it  were  following  his  spirit,  which, 
judging  from  his  manner,  was  borne  almost  to  Pisgah's  top. 

"  He  must  be  an  awful  pious  man.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he 
was  a  minister,  and  should  preach  this  evening,"  Magdalen 
thought  as  she  watched  him,  and,  awed  somewhat  by  his  pres 
ence,  she  let  her  peppermint  lozenges  stay  in  her  pocket,  and 
only  nibbled  a  little  at  the  sprig  of  caraway  when  sure  he  would 
not  see  her. 

She  did  not  know  that  he  had  noticed  her  at  all  after  the  first 
glance  of  recognition,  until  the  last  chant,  when  her  clear,  sweet 
voice  joined  in  the  singing,  making  him  pause  a  moment  to  lis 
ten,  while  a  look  of  pleased  surprise  came  into  his  face  as  he 
turned  toward  her. 

He  had  not  seen  Hester  distinctly,  for  she  was  behind  him  ; 
but  Plester  saw  him  and  pronounced  him  some  "  starched-up 
city  buck,"  and  thought  his  coat  too  short  for  so  old  a  man,  and 
his  neck  too  big  and  red. 

"  Jest  the  chap  she  shouldn't  want  to  have  much  to  do  with," 
was  her  mental  comment,  and  his  loud  "  Good  Lord,  deliver 
us  "  sounded  to  the  shrewd  old  woman  like  mockery,  for  she  did 
not  believe  he  felt  it  a  bit. 

Hester  did  not  like  the  stranger's  appearance,  but  she  won 
dered  who  he  was,  and  when  church  was  out,  and  she  was  walk 
ing  down  the  street  with  her  niece  who  kept  the  public  house, 
she  spoke  of  him,  and  learned  that  he  was  stopping  at  the  Mon- 
tauk,  as  the  little  hotel  was  named.  He  came  about  noon  the 
previous  day,  Martha  said  ;  had  called  for  their  best  room,  and 
drank  wine  with  his  dinner,  and  smoked  a  sight  of  cigars,  and 
had  a  brandy  sling  sent  up  to  him  in  the  evening.  She  did  not 
remember  his  name,  and  she  guessed  he  must  have  a  great  deal 


72  A   STIR  AT  MILLBANK. 

of  money  from  his  appearance.  He  was  going  to  New  York  in 
the  night  train,  and  that  was  all  she  knew.  Hester  made  no 
special  remark,  and  as  they  just  then  reached  the  cross-roads 
where  their  paths  diveged,  she  bade  her  niece  good-day,  and 
walked  on  towards  Millbank. 

Meantime,  Magdalen  was  reciting  her  Sunday-school  lesson, 
and  finishing  her  caraway  and  lozenges,  and  telling  her  compan 
ions  that  she  was  going  away  to  school  by  and  by,  as  Mr.  Roger 
wrote  she  must.  The  school  question  did  not  seem  as  formi 
dable  to-day  as  yesterday.  Miss  Nellie  Johnson,  who  repre 
sented  the  first  young  lady  in  town,  had  been  to  Charlestown 
Seminary,  and  so  had  Mr.  Fullerton's  daughters  and  Lilian 
Marsh,  who  was  an  orphan  and  an  heiress.  On  the  whole, 
Magdalen  had  come  to  think  it  would  set  her  up  a  little  to  go 
away,  and  she  talked  quite  complacently  about  it,  and  said  she 
guessed  it  would  be  to  Charlestown,  where  Miss  Johnson  had 
been  graduated ;  but  she  made  no  mention  of  New  Haven  or 
Alice  Grey,  though  the  latter  was  in  her  mind  when  she  sang 
the  closing  hymn,  and  went  out  of  the  church  into  the  beautiful 
sunshine.  The  day  was  so  fine,  and  the  air  so  clear,  that  Mag 
dalen  thought  to  prolong  her  walk  by  going  round  by  the  grave 
yard,  as  she  sometimes  did  on  a  Sunday.  The  quiet,  shaded 
spot  where  Squire  Irving  was  buried  just  suited  her  Sunday 
moods,  and  she  would  far  rather  lie  there  on  the  grass,  than  sit 
in  the  kitchen  at  Millbank,  and  recite  her  catechism  to  Hester 
or  read  a  sermon  to  Aleck,  whose  eyes  were  growing  dim. 

It  would  seem  that  another  than  herself  liked  the  shadow  of 
the  evergreens  and  the  seclusion  of  Squire  Irving' s  lot,  for  as 
Magdalen  drew  near  the  gate,  she  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  re 
clining  upon  the  grass,  while  a  feathery  ring  which  curled  up 
among  the  branches  of  the  trees  denoted  that  he  was  smoking. 
Magdalen  did  not  think  it  just  the  thing  to  smoke  there  among 
the  graves,  and  the  stranger  fell  a  little  in  her  estimation,  for  it 
•was  the  stranger,  and  he  arose  at  once,  and  bade  Magdalen 
good-afternoon,  and  called  her  Miss  Rogers,  as  if  he  thought 
that  was  her  name. 


A  STIR  AT  MILLBANFC.  73 

"  I  find  this  place  cooler  than  my  hot  room  at  the  Montauk," 
he  said  :  and  then  he  spoke  of  having  seen  her  at  church,  and 
asked  who  had  taught  her  to  sing. 

"  Mr.  Roger,"  she  replied.  "  He  used  to  sing  with  me  before 
lie  went  away.  He  has  a  splendid  voice,  and  is  a  splendid 
scholar,  too." 

And  then,  as  that  reminded  her  of  New  Haven  and  Alice 
Grey,  she  continued  :  "  We  heard  from  Mr.  Roger  yesterday, 
and  he  said  I  was  to  go  to  school  in  New  Haven,  but  I  don't 
want  to  go  there  a  bit." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  the  stranger  asked  ;  and  Magdalen  replied  : 

"Oh,  because  I  don't.  Frank  is  there,  and  he  told  me  so 
much  about  a  Miss  Alice  Grey,  and  wants  me  to  be  like  her ; 
and  I  can't,  and  I  don't  want  to  know  her,  for  she  would  laugh 
at  me,  and  I  should  be  sure  to  hate  her." 

"  Hate  Alice !  Impossible !  "  dropped  involuntarily  from  the 
stranger's  lips,  and  turning  upon  him  her  bright  eyes,  Magda 
len  said : 

"  Do  you  know  Frank's  Alice  Grey  ?  " 

"  I  know  one  Alice  Grey,  but  whether  it  is  Frank's  Alice,  I 
cannot  tell.  I  should  devoutly  hope  not,"  was  the  stranger's 
answer ;  and  Magdalen  noticed  that  there  was  a  disturbed  look 
on  his  face,  and  that  he  forgot  to  resume  his  cigar,  which  lay 
awhile  smouldering  in  the  grass,  and  finally  went  out. 

He  did  not  seem  disposed  to  talk  much  after  that,  and  Mag 
dalen  kept  very  quiet,  wondering  who  he  was,  until  her  atten 
tion  was  suddenly  diverted  into  another  channel  by  noticing, 
for  the  first  time,  the  absence  of  the  bouquet  which  she  had 
brought  the  day  before  and  left  upon  the  grave. 

"  Somebody  has  stole  my  flowers  !  I'll  bet  it's  Jim  Bartlett. 
He's  always  doing  something  bad,"  she  exclaimed,  and  she 
searched  among  the  grass  for  the  missing  bouquet. 

The  stranger  helped  her  hunt,  and  not  finding  it,  said  he  pre 
sumed  some  one  had  taken  it,  —  that/zV/z  was  a  bad  boy  to 
steal,  and  Magdalen  must  talk  to  him  and  teach  him  the  eighth 
commandment.  Anxious  to  confront  and  accuse  the  thieving 


74  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK. 

Jim,  Magdalen  left  the  graveyard,  and  was  soon  engaged  in  a 
hot  battle  with  the  boy,  who  denied  all  knowledge  of  the  flow 
ers,  declaring  he  had  not  been  in  the  yard  for  a  week,  and 
throwing  tufts  of  grass  and  gravel-stones  after  her  as  she  finally 
left  him  and  walked  away,  wondering,  if  Jim  did  not  take  the 
flowers,  who  d'.d.  She  never  dreamed  of  suspecting  the  stran 
ger,  or  guessed  that  when  he  left  Belvidere  there  was  in  one 
corner  of  his  satchel  the  veritable  bouquet  which  she  had  ar- 
langed  in  memory  of  poor  Jessie,  or  that  the  sight  of  those  faded 
flowers  had  touched  a  tender  chord  in  his  heart,  and  made  him 
for  several  days  kinder  and  gentler  to  a  poor,  worn,  weary  in 
valid,  whom  nothing  in  all  the  world  had  power  to  quiet  or 
soothe. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FRANK   AT   MILLBANK. 

OUR  days  later  Magdalen  received  a  letter  fromFrank, 
who  was  inconsolable.  Alice  Grey  had  left  school 
suddenly,  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  say  good- 
by.  Why  she  had  gone  or  where,  he  did  not  know.  He  only 
knew  she  was  gone,  and  that  he  thought  college  a  bore,  and 
New  Haven  a  stupid  place,  and  was  mighty  glad  that  vacation 
was  so  close  at  hand,  as  he  wanted  to  come  up  to  Millbank  and 
fish  again  in  the  river. 

"  I  think  he  might  just  as  well  spend  a  part  of  his  time  at 
home,  as  to  be  lazin'  'round  here  for  me  to  wait  on,"  Hester 
said,  when  Magdalen  communicated  the  news  of  Frank's  pro 
jected  visit  to  her. 

Hester  did  not  favor  Frank's  frequent  visits  to  Millbank. 
They  made  her  too  much  work,  for  what  with  opening  the  din 
ing-room  and  bringing  out  the  silver,  and  getting  extra  meals, 
and  seeing  to  his  sleeping  room,  and  ironing  his  seven  fine  shirts 


FRANK  AT  MILLBANK.  75 

every  week,  with  as  many  collars  and  pairs  of  socks,  to  say 
nothing  of  linen  coats  and  pants,  and  white  vests,  she  had  hei 
own  and  Bessie's  hands  quite  full. 

"  Then,  too,  Magdalen  was  jest  good  for  nothin'  when  he  wa? 
there,"  she  said,  "  and  made  a  deal  more  work  ;  for,  of  course, 
she  must  eat  with  the  young  gentleman  instead  of  out  in  the 
kitchen;  as  was  her  custom  when  they  were  alone  ;  and  it  took 
more  time  to  cook  for  two  than  one." 

Of  Hester's  opinion  Frank  knew  nothing,  and  he  came  to 
Millbank  one  delightful  morning  after  a  heavy  shower  of  the 
previous  night,  when  the  air  was  pure  and  sweet  with  the  scent 
of  the  grass  just  cut  on  the  lawn,  and  the  perfume  of  the  flowers 
blooming  in  such  profusion  in  the  garden.  Millbank  was  beau 
tiful  to  the  tired,  lazy  young  college  student,  who  hated  books 
and  tutors,  and  rules  and  early  recitations,  and  was  glad  to  get 
away  from  them  all  and  revel  awhile  at  Millbank.  He  felt  per 
fectly  at  home  there,  and  always  called  for  what  he  wanted,  and 
ordered  the  servants  with  as  much  assurance  as  if  he  had  been 
the  master.  He  had  not  forgotten  about  the  will.  He  under 
stood  it  far  better  now  than  he  had  done  when,  a  little  white- 
haired  boy,  he  fidgeted  at  his  mother's  side  and  longed  to  go 
back  to  the  baby  in  the  candle-box.  He  had  heard  every  par 
ticular  many  a  time  from  his  mother,  who  still  adhered  to  her 
olden  belief  that  there  was  another  will  which,  if  not  destroyed, 
would  one  day  be  found. 

"  I  wish  it  would  hurry  up,  then,"  Frank  had  sometimes  said, 
for  with  his  expensive  habits,  four  hundred  dollars  a  year  seemed 
a.  very  paltry  sum. 

In  his  wish  that  "  it  would  hurry  up,"  he  intended  no  harm 
to  Roger.  Frank  was  not  often  guilty  of  reasoning  or  thinking 
very  deeply  about  anything,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  how 
disastrously  the  finding  of  the  will  which  gave  him  Millbank 
would  result  for  Roger.  He  only  knew  that  he  wanted  money, 
and  unconsciously  to  himself  had  formed  a  habit  of  occasion 
ally  wondering  if  the  missing  will  ever  would  be  found.  This 
was  always  in  New  York  or  New  Haven,  when  he  wanted  some- 


76  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK. 

thing  beyond  his  means  or  had  some  old  debt  to  pay.  Al 
Millbank,  where  he  was  free  from  care,  with  his  debts  in  the 
distance  and  plenty  of  servants  and  horses  at  his  command,  he 
did  not  often  think  of  the  will,  though  the  possibility  that  there 
was  one  might  have  added  a  little  to  his  assured  manner,  which 
was  far  more  like  one  who  had  a  right  to  command  than  Roger's 
had  ever  been. 

Magdalen  was  waiting  for  him  by  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
avenue,  on  the  afternoon,  when,  with  his  carpet-bag  in  hand, 
he  came  leisurely  up  the  street  from  the  depot,  thinking  as  he 
came  how  beautiful  the  Millbank  grounds  were  looking,  and 
what  a  "  lucky  dog  "  Roger  was  to  have  stepped  into  so  fair  an 
inheritance  without  any  exertion  of  his  own.  And  with  these 
thoughts  came  a  remembrance  of  the  will,  and  Frank  began  to 
plan  what  he  would  do  if  it  should  ever  be  found.  He  would 
share  equally  with  Roger,  he  said.  He  would  not  stint  him  to 
four  hundred  a  year.  He  would  let  him  live  at  Millbank  just 
the  same,  and  Magdalen,  too,  provided  his  mother  did  not  raise 
too  many  objections  ;  and  that  reminded  him  of  what  his  mother 
had  said  to  him  that  morning  as  he  sat,  breakfasting  with  her, 
in  the  same  little  room  where  we  first  saw  her. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  not  been  in  a  very  amiable  mood  when 
she  came  down  to  breakfast  that  morning.  Eleven  years  of  the 
wear  and  tear  of  fashionable  life  had  changed  her  from  the  fair, 
smooth-faced  woman  of  twenty-eight  into  a  rather  faded  woman 
of  thirty-nine,  who  still  had  some  pretensions  to  beauty,  but 
who  found  that  she  did  not  attract  quite  so  much  attention  as 
she  used  to  do  a  few  years  ago,  when  she  was  younger,  and 
Frank  was  not  so  tall,  and  so  fearful  a  proof  that  her  youthful 
days  were  in  the  past.  Her  hair  still  fell  in  long  limp  curls  about 
her  face,  but  part  of  its  brightness  and  luxuriance  was  gone,  and 
this  morning,  as  she  arranged  it  in  a  stronger  light  than  usual, 
she  discovered  to  her  horror  more  than  one  white  hair  showing 
here  and  there  among  the  brown,  and  warning  her  that  middle 
age  was  creeping  on,  while  the  same  strong  light  showed  her  ho\« 


FRANK  AT  MILLBANK.  77 

lines  were  deepening  across  her  forehead  and  about  her  eyes, 
effects  more  of  dissipation  and  late  hours  than  of  Father  Time 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  like  to  grow  old  and  gray  and  ugly 
and  poor  with  all  the  rest,  as  she  felt  that  she  was  doing.  Hei 
house  in  Lexington  Avenue  could  only  afford  her  a  shelter.  It 
would  not  feed  or  clothe  her,  or  pay  her  bills  at  Saratoga  or 
Long  Branch  or  Newport.  Neither  would  the  interest  of  the  ten 
thousand  dollars  given  her  by  Squire  Irving,  and  she  had  long 
ago  begun  to  use  the  principal,  and  had  nothing  to  rely  on  when 
that  was  gone  except  Roger's  generosity,  and  the  possibility  of 
the  lost  will  turning  up  at  last.  She  was  wanting  to  go  to  Long 
Branch  this  summer  ;  her  dear  friends  were  all  going,  and  had 
urged  her  to  join  them,  but  her  account  at  the  bank  was  too 
low  to  admit  of  that,  and  yesterday  she  had  given  her  final  an 
swer,  and  seen  the  last  of  her  set  depart  without  her.  She  had 
not  hinted  to  them  the  reason  for  her  refusal  to  join  them.  She 
had  said  she  did  not  care  for  Long  Branch,  and  when  they  ex 
claimed  against  her  remaining  in  the  dusty  city,  she  had  men 
tioned  Millbank  and  the  possibility  of  her  going  there  for  the 
.month  of  August.  She  did  not  really  mean  it ;  but  when  Frank, 
who  had  only  been  home  from  college  three  days,  told  her  at 
the  breakfast  table  that  he  was  going  to  Millbank  after  pure  air, 
and  rich  sweet  cream,  which  was  a  weakness  of  his,  she  felt  a 
longing  to  go,  too, — a  desire  for  the  cool  house  and  pleasan 
grounds,  to  say  nothing  of  the  luxuries  which  were  to  be  had 
there  in  so  great  abundance.  But  since  the  morning  of  her  de 
parture  from  Millbank  she  had  received  no  invitation  to  cross 
its  threshold,  and  had  not  seen  Roger  over  half  a  dozen  times. 
He  felt  that  she  disliked  him,  and  kept  out  of  her  way,  stop 
ping  always  at  a  hotel  when  in  New  York,  instead  of  going  to 
her  house  on  Lexington  Avenue.  He  had  called  there,  how 
ever,  and  taken  tea  the  day  before  he  sailed  for  Europe,  and 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  remembered  with  pleasure  that  she  had  been 
very  affable  on  that  occasion,  and  pressed  him  to  spend  the 
night.  Surely,  after  that,  she  might  venture  to  Millbank,  and 
she  hinted  as  much  to  Frank,  who  would  rather  she  should 


78  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK. 

stay  where  she  was.  But  he  was  not  quite  unfilial  enough  ta 
say  so.  He  only  suggested  that  an  invitation  from  the  proper 
authorities  might  be  desirable  before  she  took  so  bold  a  step. 

"  You  used  to  snub  Roger  awfully,"  he  said ;  "  and  if  he  was 
like  anybody  else,  he  wouldn't  forget  it  in  a  hurry  ;  but,  then,  he 
isn't  like  anybody  else.  He's  the  best-hearted  and  most  gen 
erous  chap  I  ever  knew." 

"  Generous  !  "  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  repeated,  with  a  tinge  of 
sarcasm  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  generous,"  said  Frank.  "  He  has  always  allowed  me 
more  than  the  will  said  he  must,  and  he's  helped  me  out  of 
more  than  forty  scrapes.  I  say,  again,  he  is  the  most  generous 
chap  I  ever  knew." 

"  I  hope  he  will  prove  it  in  a  few  weeks,  when  you  are  of 
age,  by  giving  you  more  than  that  five  thousand  named  in  the 
will,"  was  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  next  remark.  "  Frank,"  —  and 
she  lowered  her  voice  lest  the  walls  should  hear  and  report,  — • 
"  we  are  poor.  This  house  and  three  thousand  dollars  are 
all  we  have  in  the  world  ;  and  unless  Roger  does  something 
handsome  for  you,  there  is  no  alternative  for  us  but  to  mort 
gage  the  house,  or  sell  it,  and  acknowledge  our  poverty  to  the 
world.  I  have  sold  your  father's  watch  and  his  diamond  cross." 

"  Mother  ! "  Frank  exclaimed,  his  tone  indicative  of  his  sur 
prise  and  indignation. 

"  I  had  to  pay  Bridget's  wages,  and  defray  the  expense  of  that 
little  party  I  gave  last  winter,"  was  the  lady's  apology,  to  which 
Frank  responded  : 

"  Confound  your  party  !  People  as  poor  as  we  are  have  no 
business  with  parties.  Sell  father's  watch  !  and  I  was  intending 
to  claim  it  myself  when  I  came  of  age.  It's  too  bad  !  You'll 
be  selling  me  next !  I'll  be  hanged  if  it  isn't  deuced  inconve 
nient  to  be  so  poor  !  I  mean  to  go  to  Millbank  and  stay.  I'm 
seldom  troubled  with  the  blues  when  there." 

"  I  wish  you  could  get  me  an  invitation  to  go  there,  too," 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  said.  "  It  will  look  so  queer  to  stay  in  the 
city  all  summer,  as  I  am  likely  to  do.  I  should  suppose 


FRANK  AT  MILLBANK.  79 

Roger  would  want  somebody  besides  old  Hester  to  look  aftei 
Magdalen.  She  must  be  a  large  girl  now." 

It  was  the  first  sign  of  interest  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  shown 
in  Magdalen,  and  Frank,  who  liked  the  girl,  followed  it  up  by 
expatiating  upon  her  good  qualities,  telling  how  bright  and 
smart  she  was,  and  how  handsome  she  would  be  if  only  she 
could  be  dressed  decently.  Then  he  told  her  of  Roger's  inten 
tion  to  send  her  to  school,  and  after  a  few  more  remarks 
arose  from  the  table  and  began  his  preparations  for  Millbank. 
Frank  was  usually  very  light-hearted  and  hopeful,  but  there  was 
a  weight  on  his  spirits,  and  his  face  wore  a  gloomy  look  all  the 
way  from  New  York  to  Hartford.  But  it  began  to  clear  as 
Millbank  drew  near.  There  was  his  Eldorado,  and  by  the  time 
the  station  was  reached,  he  had  forgotten  the  impending  mort 
gage,  and  his  father's  watch,  and  his  own  poverty.  It  ail  came 
back,  however,  with  a  thought  of  the  will,  and  he  found  himself 
wishing  most  devoutly  that  the  missing  document  could  be 
found,  or  else  that  Roger  would  do  the  handsome  thing,  and 
come  down  with  a  few  thousands  on  his  twenty-first  birthday, 
now  only  three  weeks  in  the  distance.  The  sight  of  Magdalen, 
however,  in  her  new  white  ruffled  apron,  with  her  hair  curling 
in  rings  about  her  head,  and  her  great  round  eyes  dancing  with 
joyj  diverted  his  mind  from  Roger  and  the  will,  and  scattered 
the  blues  at  once. 

"  Oh;  Mag,  is  that  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  coming  quickly  to 
her  side.  "  How  bright  and  pretty  you  look  ! " 

And  the  tall  young  man  bent  down  to  kiss  the  little  girl,  who 
was  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  who  told  him  how  dull  it  had 
been  at  Millbank,  and  how  Aleck  said  there  was  good  fishing 
now  in  the  creek,  and  a  great  many  squirrels  in  the  woods,  though 
she  did  not  want  him  to  kill  them,  and  that  he  was  going  to 
have  the  blue  room  instead  of  his  old  one,  which  was  damp 
from  a  leak  around  the  chimney;  that  she  had  put  lots  of 
flowers  in  it,  and  a  photograph  of  herself,  in  a  little  frame  made 
of  twigs.  This  last  she  had  meant  to  keep  a  secret,  and  sur 
prise  the  young  man,  who  was  sure  to  be  so  delighted.  But 


80  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK. 

she  had  let  it  out,  and  she  rattled  on  about  it,  till  the  house  was 
reached,  and  Frank  stood  in  the  blue  room,  where  the  wonder 
ful  picture  was. 

"  Here,  Frank,  this  is  it.  This  is  me;"  and  she  directed  his 
attention  at  once  to  the  picture  of  herself,  sitting  up  very  stiff 
and  prim,  with  mitts  on  her  hands,  and  Hester's  best  collai 
pinned  around  her  high-necked  dress,  and  Bessie's  handker 
chief,  trimmed  with  cotton  lace,  fastened  conspicuously  at  hei 
belt. 

Frank  laughed  a  loud,  hearty  laugh,  which  had  more  of  ridi 
cule  in  it  than  approval ;  and  Magdalen,  who  knew  him  so  well, 
detected  the  ridicule,  and  knew  he  was  making  fun  of  what  she 
thought  so  nice. 

"  You  don't  like  it,  and  I  got  it  on  purpose  for  you  and  Mr. 
Roger,  and  sold  strawberries  to  pay  for  it,  because  Hester  said 
a  present  we  earned  ourselves  was  always  worth  more  than  if 
we  took  somebody  else's  money  to  buy  it,"  Magdalen  said,  her 
lip  beginning  to  quiver  and  her  eyes  to  fill  with  tears. 

"  The  man  was  a  bungler  who  took  you  in  that  stiff  position," 
Frank  replied,  "and  your  dress  is  too  old.  I'll  show  you  one  I 
have  of  Alice  Grey,  and  maybe  take  you  to  Springfield,  where 
you  can  sit  just  as  she  does." 

This  did  not  mend  the  matter  much,  and  Magdalen  felt  as  if 
something  had  been  lost  from  the  brightness  of  the  day,  and 
wondered  if  Roger  too  would  laugh  at  her  photograph,  which 
had  gone  to  him  in  Hester's  letter.  Frank  knew  he  had 
wounded  her,  and  was  very  kind  and  gracious  to  her  by  way  of 
making  amends,  and  gave  her  the  book  with  colored  plates 
which  he  had  bought  for  Alice  Grey  just  before  she  left  New 
Haven  so  suddenly.  It  happened  to  be  in  his  trunk,  vvhich 
was  brought  from  the  station  that  night,  and  he  blessed  his  good 
stars  that  it  was  there,  and  gave  it  as  a  peace-offering  to  Mag 
dalen,  whose  face  cleared  entirely;  and  who  next  day  went 
with  him  down  to  the  old  haunt  by  the  river,  and  fastened  to 
his  hook  the  worms  she  dug  before  he  was  up  ;  and  told  him  all 


FRANK  AT  MILLBANK.  8 1 

about  the  stranger  in  the  graveyard,  and  about  her  going  to 
school.  And  then  she  asked  him  about  Alice  Grey,  and  the 
picture  which  he  had  of  her. 

"  Did  she  give  it  to  you?"  Magdalen  asked;  but  Frank 
affected  not  to  hear  her,  and  pretended  to  be  busy  with 
something  which  hurt  his  foot.  He  did  not  care  to  tell  her 
that  he  had  bought  the  picture  at  the  gallery  where  it  was 
taken.  He  would  rather  she  should  think  Alice  gave  it  to 
him,  and  after  a  moment  he  took  it  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  Magdalen,  who  stood  for  a  long  time  gazing  at  it  without 
saying  a  word.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  sweet-faced  young  girl, 
whose  short,  chestnut  hair  rippled  in  waves  all  over  her  head 
just  as  Magdalen's  did.  Her  dress  was  a  white  muslin,  with 
clusters  of  tucks  nearly  to  the  waist,  and  her  little  resetted 
slipper  showed  below  the  hem.  Her  head  was  leaning  upon 
one  hand,  and  the  other  held  a  spray  of  flowers,  while  around 
her  were  pictures,  and  vases,  and  statuettes,  with  her  straw  hat 
lying  at  her  feet,  where  she  had  evidently  thrown  it  when  she 
sat  down  to  rest.  It  was  a  beautiful  picture,  and  nothing  could 
be  more  graceful  than  Alice's  attitude,  or  afford  a  more  striking 
contrast  to  the  stiff  position  of  poor  Mag  in  that  picture  on 
Frank's  table,  in  the  blue  room.  Magdalen  saw  the  difference 
at  once,  and  ceased  to  wonder  at  Frank's  non-appreciation  of 
her  photograph.  It  was  a  botch,  compared  with  Alice's,  and 
she  herself  was  a  botch,  an  awkward,  unsightly  thing  in  her 
long  dress  and  coarse  shoes,  two  sizes  too  big  for  her,  such  as 
she  always  insisted  upon  wearing  for  fear  of  pinching  her  toes. 
She  had  them  on  now,  and  a  pair  of  stockings  which  wrinkled 
on  the  top  of  her  foot,  and  she  glanced  first  at  them  and  then 
at  the  delicate  slipper  in  the  picture,  and  the  small  round 
waist,  and  pretty  tucke.1  skirt,  and  then,  greatly  to  Frank's 
amazement,  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  like  her  best,"  she  said,  when  Frank 
asked  what  was  the  matter.  "I  don't  look  like  that.  I  can't, 
I  haven't  any  slippers,  nor  any  muslin  dress ;  and  if  I  had,  Hester 

4* 


82  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK. 

wouldn't  let  me  have  it  tucked,  it's  such  hard  work  to  iron  it 
Alice  has  a  mother,  I  know,  —  a  good,  kind  mother,  to  take 
care  of  her  and  make  her  look  like  other  little  girls.  Oh,  I 
wish  hei  mother  was  mine,  or  I  had  one  just  like  her." 

Alas,  poor  Magdalen.  She  little  guessed  the  truth,  01 
dreamed  how  dark  a  shadow  lay  across  the  pathway  of  pretty 
Alice  Grey.  She  only  thought  of  her  as  handsome  and  grace 
ful  and  happy  in  mother  and  friends,  and  she  wept  on  for  a 
moment,  while  Frank  tried  to  comfort  her. 

There  was  no  more  fishing  that  day,  for  Maggie's  head  began 
to  ache,  and  they  went  back  to  Millbank,  across  the  pleasant 
fields,  in  the  quiet  of  the  summer  afternoon.  Frank  missed 
Magdalen's  photograph  from  his  table  the  next  day,  and  had  he 
been  out  by  the  little  brook  which  ran  through  the  grounds, 
he  would  have  seen  the  fragments  of  it  floating  down  the  stream, 
with  Magdalen  standing  by  and  watching  them  silently.  They 
fished  again  after  a  day  or  two,  and  hunted  in  the  woods  and 
sat  together  beneath  an  old  gnarled  oak  where  Frank  grew 
confidential,  and  told  Magdalen  of  his  moneyed  troubles,  and 
wondered  if  Roger  would  allow  him  more  than  five  thousand 
when  he  came  of  age.  And  then  he  inadvertently  alluded  to 
the  missing  will,  and  told  Magdalen  about  it,  and  said  it  might 
be  well  enough  for  her  to  hunt  for  it  occasionally,  as  she  had 
access  to  all  parts  of  the  house.  And  Magdalen  promised  that 
she  would,  without  a  thought  of  how  the  finding  of  it  might 
affect  Roger.  She  would  not  for  the  world  have  harmed  one 
whom  she  esteemed  and  venerated  as  she  did  Roger,  but  he 
was  across  the  sea,  and  Frank  had  her  ear  and  her  sympathy. 
It  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  find  the  will,  particularly  as  Frank 
had  promised  her  a  dress  like  Alice  Grey's  and  a  piano,  if  she 
succeeded. 

Frank  was  not  a  scoundrel,  as  some  reader  may  be  ready  to 
suppose.  He  had  no  idea  that  the  finding  of  the  will  would 
ruin  Roger.  He  had  received  no  such  impression  from  his 
mother.  She  had  not  thought  best  to  tell  him  all  she  believed, 
and  had  only  insinuated  that  the  missing  v/ill  was  more  in 


FRANK  AT  MILLBANK.  83 

his  favor  than  the  one  then  in  force.  Frank  wanted  money,  — • 
a  great  deal  of  money,  and  his  want  was  growing  constantly, 
and  so  he  casually  recommended  Magdalen  to  hunt  for  the 
will,  and  then  for  a  time  gave  the  subject  no  more  thought 
But  not  so  with  Magdalen.  She  dreamed  of  the  will  by  night, 
and  hunted  for  it  by  day,  when  Frank  did  not  claim  her  atten 
tion,  until  at  last  Hester  stumbled  upon  her  turning  over  the 
identical  barrel  of  papers  which  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  once 
looked  through. 

"In  the  name  of  the  people,  what  are  you  doing?"  she 
asked;  and  Magdalen,  who  never  thought  of  keeping  her 
intentions  a  secret,  replied,  "  I'm  looking  for  that  will  which 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  says  Squire  Irving  made  before  he  died." 

For  an  instant  Hester  was  white  as  a  ghost,  and  her  voice 
was  thick  with  passion  or  fright,  as  she  exclaimed,  "A  nice 
business,  after  all  Roger  has  done  for  you,  and  a  pretty  pickle 
you'd  be  in,  too,  if  such  a  will  could  be  found.  Don't  you  know 
you'd  be  hustled  out  of  this  house  in  less  than  no  time  ?  You'd 
be  a  beggar  in  the  streets.  Put  up  them  papers  quick,  and 
don't  let  me  catch  you  rummagin'  again.  If  Frank  is  goin'  to 
put  such  notions  into  your  head,  he'd  better  stay  away  from 
Millbank.  Come  with  me,  I  say  !  " 

Hester  was  terribly  excited,  and  Magdalen  looked  at  her 
curiously,  while  there  flashed  across  her  mind  a  thought,  which 
yet  was  hardly  a  thought,  that,  if  there  was  a  will,  Hester  knew 
something  of  it.  Let  a  woman  once  imagine  there  is  a  secret 
or  a  mystery  in  the  house,  and  she  seldom  rests  until  she  has 
ferreted  it  out.  So  Magdalen,  though  not  a  woman,  had  the 
instincts  of  one;  and  her  interest  in  the  lost  document  was 
doubled  by  Hester's  excitement,  but  she  did  not  look  any  more 
that  day,  nor  for  many  succeeding  ones. 

On  Frank's  birthday  there  came  letters  from  Roger,  and  the 
same  train  which  brought  them  brought  also  Mrs.  Walter  Scott. 
She  had  found  the  city  unendurable  with  all  her  acquaintance 
away,  and  had  ventured  to  come  unasked  to  Millbank.  Hester 
was  not  glad  to  see  her.  Since  finding  Magdalen  in  the  garret, 


84  FRANK  AT  MILLBANK. 

she  had  suspected  Frank  of  all  manner  of  evil  designs,  and 
now  his  mother  had  come  to  help  him  carry  them  out.  She 
had  no  fears  of  their  succeeding.  She  knew  they  would  not ; 
but  she  did  not  want  them  there,  and  she  spoke  very  short 
and  crisp  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  and  was  barely  civil  to  her. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  on  the  contrary,  was  extremely  urbane  and 
sweet.  She  did  not  feel  as  assured  as  she  had  done  when 
last  at  Millbank.  There  was  nothing  of  the  mistress  about 
her  now.  She  was  all  smiles  and  softness,  and  gentleness,  and 
called  Hester  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Floyd,"  and  squeezed  her  hand, 
and  told  her  how  well  and  young  she  was  looking,  and  petted 
Magdalen,  and  ran  her  white  fingers  through  her  rings  of  hair, 
and  said  it  was  partly  on  her  account  she  had  come  to  Mill- 
bank. 

"  I  heard  from  Frank  that  she  was  to  go  to  school  in  the 
autumn,  and  knowing  what  a  bore  it  would  be  for  you,  Mrs. 
Floyd,  to  see  to  her  wardrobe,  with  all  the  rest  you  have  to  do, 
I  ventured  to  come,  especially  as  I  have  been  longing  to  see 
the  old  place  once  more.  How  beautiful  it  is  looking,  and 
how  nicely  you  and  your  good  husband  have  kept  everything  ! 
How  is  Mr.  Floyd?" 

Hester  knew  there  was  a  good  deal  of  what  she  called  "  soft- 
soap  "  in  all  the  lady  said ;  but  kind  words  go  a  great  ways 
with  everybody,  and  Hester  insensibly  relaxed  her  stiffness  and 
went  herself  with  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  to  her  room  and  opened 
the  shutters,  and  brought  clean  towels  for  the  rack,  and  asked 
if  her  guest  would  have  a  lunch  or  wait  till  dinner  was  ready. 

"  Oh,  I'll  wait,  of  course.  I  do  not  mean  to  give  you  one 
bit  of  trouble,"  was  the  suave  reply,  and  Hester  departed,  won 
dering  to  herself  at  the  change,  and  if  "  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
hadn't  j'ined  the  church  or  something." 


ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND    THE  RESULT.  85 

CHAPTER  XL 

ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND  THE  RESULT. 

HILE  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  resting,  Roger's  letters 
were  brought  in.  There  was  one  for  Frank,  which 
he  carried  to  his  own  room,  and  one  for  Magdalen, 
who  broke  the  seal  at  once  and  screamed  with  delight  as  Roger's 
photograph  met  her  view.  He  had  had  it  taken  for  her  in 
Dresden,  and  hoped  it  would  afford  her  as  much  pleasure  to 
receive  it  as  hers  had  given  him.  He  did  not  say  that  he 
thought  her  position  stiff,  and  her  dress  too  old  for  her,  though 
he  had  thought  it,  and  smiled  at  the  prim,  old-womanish  figure, 
sitting  so  erect  in  the  high-backed  chair.  But  he  would  not 
willingly  wound  any  one,  much  less  the  little  girl  who  had 
picked  berries  in  the  hot  sun  to  pay  for  the  picture.  So  he 
thanked  her  for  it,  and  inclosed  his  own,  and  gave  his  consent 
to  the  Charlestown  arrangement,  and  asked  again  that  some 
competent  person  should  take  charge  of  her  wardrobe,  which 
he  wanted  in  every  respect  "to  be  like  that  of  other  young 
girls."  He  underscored  this  line,  and  Hester,  who  read  the 
letter  after  Magdalen,  felt  her  blood  tingle  a  little,  and  knew 
that  her  day  for  dressing  Magdalen  was  over.  As  for  Magda 
len,  she  was  too  much  engrossed  in  Roger's  picture  to  think 
much  of  the  contents  of  the  letter. 

"  Oh,  isn't  he  splendid  looking ;  but  I  should  be  awfully 
afraid  of  him  now,"  she  said,  as  she  went  in  quest  of  Frank. 

She  found  him  in  his  room,  with  a  disturbed,  disappointed 
look  upon  his  face.  Roger  had  not  made  him  a  rich  man  on 
his  twenty-first  birthday.  He  had  only  ordered  that  six  thou 
sand  dollars  should  be  paid  to  him  instead  of  five,  as  mentioned 
in  the  will,  and  had  said  that  inasmuch  as  Frank  had  another 
year  in  college  the  four  hundred  should  be  continued  for 
the  year  and  increased  by  an  additional  hundred,  as  seniors 
usually  wanted  a  little  spending  money.  Frank's  good  sense 


86  ROGERS  LETTERS  AND    THE  RESULT. 

told  him  that  this  was  more  than  he  had  a  right  to  expect,  that 
Roger  was  and  always  had  been  very  generous  with  him ;  but 
he  knew,  too,  that  he  was  owing  here  and  there  nearly  a  thou 
sand  dollars,  while,  worse  than  all,  there  was  for  sale  in  Mill- 
bank  the  most  beautiful  fast  horse,  which  he  greatly  coveted 
and  had  meant  to  buy,  provided  Roger  came  down  hand 
somely.  Knowing  that  hon  es  had  been  his  father's  ruin  and 
his  grandfather's  aversion,  F;ank  had  abstained  tolerably  well 
from  indulging  his  taste,  which  was  decidedly  toward  the  race 
course.  But  he  had  always  intended  to  own  a  horse  as  soon  as 
he  was  able.  According  to  the  will,  he  could  not  use  for  that 
purpose  any  of  the  five  thousand  dollars  left  to  him.  That  was 
to  set  him  up  in  business,  though  what  the  business  would  be 
was  more  than  he  could  tell.  He  hated  study  too  much  to  be 
a  lawyer  or  doctor,  and  had  in  his  mind  a  situation  in  some 
banking  house  where  capital  was  not  required,  and  with  his 
salary  and  the  interest  of  what  Roger  was  going  to  give  him  he 
should  do  very  well.  That  interest  had  dwindled  down  to  a 
very  small  sum,  and  in  his  disappointment  Frank  was  accusing 
Roger  of  stinginess,  when  Magdalen  came  in.  She  saw  some 
thing  was  the  matter,  and  asked  what  it  was,  at  the  same  time 
showing  him  Roger's  picture,  at  which  he  looked  attentively. 

"  Foreign  travel  is  improving  him,"  he  said.  "  He  looks  as  if 
he  hadn't  a  care  in  the  world ;  and  why  should  he  have,  with  an 
income  of  twenty  or  twenty-five  thousand  a  year  ?  What  does 
he  know  of  poverty,  or  debts,  or  self-denials  ?  " 

Frank  spoke  bitterly,  and  Magdalen  felt  that  he  was  blaming 
Roger,  whose  blue  eyes  looked  so  kindly  at  him  from  the  pho 
tograph. 

"  What  is  it,  Frank  ?  "  she  asked  again ;  and  then  Frank  told 
her  of  his  perplexities,  and  how  much  he  owed,  and  how  he  had 
expected  more  than  a  thousand  dollars  from  Roger,  and,  as  he 
talked,  he  made  himself  believe  that  he  was  badly  used,  and 
Magdalen  thought  so,  too,  though  she  could  not  quite  see  how 
Roger  was  obliged  to  give  him  money,  if  he  did  not  r,hoose  to 
do  so. 


ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND    THE  RESULT.  87 

Still  she  was  very  sorry  for  him,  and  wished  that  she  owned 
Millbank,  so  she  could  share  it  with  the  disconsolate  Frank. 

"  I  mean  to  write  to  Mr.  Roger  about  it,  and  ask  him  to  give 
you  more,"  she  said,  a  suggestion  against  which  Frank  uttered 
only  a  feeble  protest. 

As  he  felt  then,  he  was  willing  to  receive  aid  by  almost  any 
means,  and  he  did  not  absolutely  forbid  Magdalen  to  write  as 
she  proposed  ;  neither,  when  she  spoke  of  the  will,  and  her  in 
tention  to  continue  her  search  for  it,  did  he  offer  any  remon 
strance.  He  rather  encouraged  that  idea,  and  his  face  began 
to  clear,  and,  before  dinner  was  announced,  Magdalen  heard 
him  practising  on  his  guitar,  which  had  been  sent  from  New 
York  by  express,  and  which  Hester  likened  to  a  "  corn-stock 
fiddle." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  came  down  to  dinner,  very  neatly  dressed 
in  a  pretty  muslin  of  a  white-ground  pattern,  with  a  little  laven 
der  leaf  upon  it,  her  lace  collar  fastened  with  a  coral  pin,  and 
coral  ornaments  in  her  ears.  Her  hair  was  curling  better  than 
usual,  and  was  arranged  very  becomingly,  while  her  long  train 
swept  back  behind  her  and  gave  her  the  air  of  a  queen,  Mag 
dalen  thought,  as  she  stood  watching  her.  She  was  very  gra 
cious  to  Magdalen  all  through  the  dinner,  and  doubly,  trebly  so 
after  a  private  conference  with  Frank,  who  told  her  of  his  dis 
appointment,  and  what  Magdalen  had  said  about  writing  to 
Roger,  as  well  as  hunting  for  the  will.  Far  more  shrewd  and 
cunning  'Jian  her  son,  who,  with  all  his  faults,  was  too  honor 
able  to  stoop  to  stratagem  and  duplicity,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
saw  at  once  how  she  could  make  a  tool  of  Magdalen,  and  by 
being  very  kind  and  gracious  to  her,  play  into  her  own  hands 
in  more  ways  than  one.  Accompanying  Roger's  letter  was  a 
chsck  for  five  hundred  dollars,  which  Hester  was  to  use  for 
Magdalen's  wardrobe,  and  for  the  payment  of  her  bills  at 
school  as  long  as  it  lasted.  When  more  was  needed,  more 
would  be  sent,  Roger  said ;  and  he  asked  that  everything  need 
ful  should  be  furnished  to  make  Magdalen  on  an  equality  with 
other  young  girls  of  her  age.  Here  was  a  chance  for  Mrs.  Wai. 


88  ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND    THE  RESULT. 

ter  Scott.  She  had  good  taste.  She  knew  what  school- girls 
needed.  She  could  be  economical,  too,  if  she  tried,  she  said 
with  her  sweet,  winning  way ;  and  if  Mrs.  Floyd  pleased,  she 
would,  while  at  Millbank,  relieve  her  entirely  of  all  care  of 
Magdalen's  dress,  and  see  to  it  herself. 

"  Better  keep  family  matters  in  the  family,  and  not  go  to 
Mrs.  Johnson,  who  knows  but  little  more  of  such  things  than 
you  do,"  she  said  to  Hester,  who,  for  once  in  her  life,  was 
hoodwinked,  and  consented  to  let  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  take  Mag 
dalen  and  the  check  into  her  own  hands. 

There  were  two  or  three  trips  to  New  York,  and  two  or  three 
milliners  and  dressmakers'  bills  paid  and  receipted  and  said 
nothing  about.  There  were  also  bundles  and  bundles  of  dry 
goods  forwarded  to  Millbank,  from  Stewart's,  and  Arnold's,  and 
Hearne's,  and  one  would  have  supposed  that  Magdalen  was  a 
young  lady  just  making  her  debut  into  fashionable  society,  in 
stead  of  a  little  girl  of  twelve  going  away  to  school.  The  re 
ceipted  bills  of  said  bundles  were  all  scrupulously  sent  across 
the  water  to  Roger,  to  whom  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  wrote  a  very 
friendly  letter,  begging  pardon  for  the  liberty  she  had  taken  of 
going  to  his  house  uninvited,  but  expressing  herself  as  so 
lonely  and  tired  of  the  hot  city,  and  so  anxious  to  visit  the 
haunt  sacred  to  her  for  the  sake  of  her  dear  husband,  Roger's 
only  brother.  Then  she  spoke  of  Magdalen  in  the  highest 
terms  of  praise,  and  said  she  had  taken  it  upon  herself  to  see 
that  she  was  properly  fitted  out,  and  as  Roger,  being  a  bachelor, 
was  not  expected  to  know  how  much  was  actually  required 
nowadays  for  a  young  miss's  wardrobe,  she  sent  him  the  bills 
that  he  might  know  what  she  was  getting,  and  stop  her  if  she 
(was  too  extravagant. 

This  was  her  first  letter,  to  which  Roger  returned  a  very 
gracious  answer,  thanking  her  for  her  interest  in  Magdalen,  ex 
pressing  himself  as  glad  that  she  was  at  Millbank,  asking  her 
to  prolong  her  visit  as  long  as  she  found  it  agreeable,  and  say 
ing  he  was  not  very  likely  to  quarrel  about  the  bills,  as  he  had 
very  little  idea  of  the  cost  of  feminine  apparel. 


ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND    THE  RESULT.  89 

Roger  was  not  naturally  suspicious,  and  it  never  occurred  la 
him  in  glancing  over  the  bills  to  wonder  what  a  child  of  twelve 
could  do  with  fifteen  yards  of  blue  silk  or  three  yards  of  velvet. 
For  aught  he  knew,  blue  silk  and  black  silk  and  velvet  were  as 
appropriate  for  Magdalen  as  the  merinos  and  Scotch  plaids, 
and  delaines  and  French  calicoes,  and  ginghams,  and  littk 
striped  crimson  and  black  silk  which  the  lady  purchased 
for  Magdalen  at  reduced  rates,  and  had  made  up  for  her  ac 
cording  to  her  own  good  taste. 

In  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  second  letter  she  spoke  of  two  or 
three  other  bills  which  she  had  forgotten  to  enclose  in  her  last, 
and  which  were  now  mislaid  so  that  she  could  not  readily  find 
them.  The  amount  was  a  little  over  one  hundred  dollars,  and 
she  mentioned  it  so  that  he  might  know  just  what  disposition 
was  made  of  his  check  while  the  money  was  in  her  hands. 
Then  it  did  occur  to  Roger  that  Magdalen  must  be  having  a 
wonderful  outfit,  and  for  a  moment  a  distrust  of  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  flashed  across  his  mind.  But  he  quickly  put  it  by  as 
unworthy  of  him,  and  by  way  of  making  amends  for  the  dis 
trust,  sent  to  the  lady  herself  his  check  for  one  hundred  dol 
lars,  which  she  was  to  accept  for  her  kindness  to  Magdalen. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  happiness,  and 
petted  Magdalen  more  than  ever,  and  confirmed  old  Hester  in 
her  belief  that  "  she  had  joined  the  church  or  met  with  a  great 
change." 

The  will  was  never  mentioned  in  Hester's  presence,  but  to 
Magdalen  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  talked  about  it,  not  as  anything 
in  which  she  was  especially  interested,  but  as  something  which 
it  was  well  enough  to  find  if  it  really  existed,  and  gave,  as  she 
believed  it  did,  more  money  to  Frank  than  the  other  one 
allowed  him.  Magdalen  was  completely  dazzled  and  charmed 
by  the  great  lady  whom  she  thought  so  beautiful  and  grand,  and 
whose  long  curls  she  stroked  and  admired,  wondering  a  little 
why  Mrs.  Irving  was  so  much  afraid  of  her  doing  anything  to 
straighten  them,  when  her  own  hair,  if  once  wet  and  curled  and 
dried,  could  not  well  be  comb  >d  out  of  place.  Magdalen  be- 


90  ROGER'S  LETTERS  AND   THE  RESULT. 

Ueved  in  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  and  looked  with  a  kind  of  disdain 
upon  Mrs.  Johnson  and  Nellie,  who  had  once  stood  for  her 
ideas  of  queens  and  princesses.  Now  they  were  mere  ciphers 
when  compared  with  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  took  her  to  drive, 
and  kept  her  in-  her  own  room,  and  kissed  her  affectionate!)' 
when  she  promised  of  her  own  accord  "to  look  for  that  will 
until  it  was  found." 

"  My  little  pet,  you  make  me  so  happy,"  she  had  said ;  and 
Magdalen,  flushed  with  pride  and  flattery,  thought  how  delight 
ful  it  would  be  to  give  the  recovered  document  some  day  into 
the  beautiful  woman's  hands  and  receive  her  honeyed  words 
of  thanks. 

Those  were  very  pleasant  weeks  for  Magdalen  which  Frank 
and  his  mother  spent  at  Millbank ;  the  pleasantest  she  had  ever 
known,  and  she  enjoyed  them  thoroughly.  The  parlors  were 
used  every  day,  and  Magdalen  walked  with  quite  an  aii 
through  the  handsome  rooms,  arrayed  in  some  one  of  her  new 
dresses  which  improved  her  so  much,  and  made  her,  as  Frank 
said,  most  as  handsome  as  Alice  Grey.  At  her  particular  re 
quest  she  had  a  white  muslin  made  and  tucked  just  like  Alice's 
in  the  picture,  and  then  went  with  Frank  to  Springfield,  and 
sat  as  Alice  sat,  with  her  head  leaning  on  her  hands,  flowers 
in  her  lap,  and  her  wavy  hair  arranged  like  Alice's.  It  was  a 
striking  picture,  prettier,  if  possible,  than  Alice's,  except  that  in 
Magdalen's  face  there  was  an  anxious  expression,  a  look  ol 
newness,  as  if  she  had  come  suddenly  into  the  dress  and  the 
position  ;  whereas  Alice  was  easy  and  natural,  as  if  tucked  mus 
lins  and  flowers  were  everyday  matters  with  her.  Magdalen  was 
not  ashamed  of  her  photograph  this  time,  and  she  sent  a  copy 
to  Roger,  with  the  letter  which  she  wrote  him,  and  in  which  she 
made  Frank  the  theme  of  her  discourse.  There  was  nothing 
roundabout  in  Magdalen's  character.  She  came  directly  at 
what  she  wanted  to  say,  and  Roger  was  told  in  plain  terms 
that  Magdalen  wished  he  would  give  Frank  a  little  more  money, 
that  he  had  debts  to  pay,  and  had  said  that  if  he  could  get 
them  off  his  mind  he  would  never  incur  another,  but  would 


ROGERS  LETTERS  AND    THE  RESULT.  9! 

tvork  like  a  dog  to  earn  his  own  living  when  once  he  was 
through  college.  If  Roger  would  do  this,  she,  Magdalen, 
would  study  so  hard  at  school  and  be  so  economical,  that  per 
haps  she  could  manage  to  save  all  he  chose  to  send  to  Frank 
Mrs.  Irving  had  bought  her  more  clothes  than  she  needed, 
and  she  could  make  them  last  for  two  or  three  years,  —  she 
knew  she  could. 

This  was  Mr.gdalen's  letter;  and  a  week  after  Frank's  return 
to  college  he  was  surprised  by  a  request  from  Roger  to  send 
him  a  list  of  all  his  unpaid  bills,  as  he  wished  to  liquidate  them. 
There  were  some  bills  which  Frank  did  not  care  to  have  come 
under  Roger's  grave  inspection ;  but  as  these  chanced  to 
be  the  largest  of  them  all,  he  could  not  afford  to  lose  the 
opportunity  of  having  them  taken  off  his  hands ;  and  so 
the  list  went  to  Roger,  with  a  self-accusing  letter  full  of 
promises  of  amendment.  And  kind,  all-enduring  Roger  tried 
to  believe  his  nephew  sincere,  and  paid  his  debts,  and  made 
him  a  free  man  again,  and  wrote  him  a  kind,  fatherly  letter, 
full  of  good  advice,  which  Frank  read  with  his  feet  on  the 
mantel,  an  expensive  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  a  mint  julep 
on  the  table  beside  him. 

Meantime  Magdalen  had  said  good-by  to  Millbank,  and  was 
an  inmate  of  Charlestown  Seminary,  where  her  bright  face  and 
frank,  impulsive  manner  were  winning  her  many  friends  among 
the  young  girls  of  her  own  age,  and  the  quickness  which  she 
evinced  for  learning,  and  the  implicit  obedience  she  always 
rendered  to  the  most  trivial  rule,  were  winning  her  golden 
laurels  from  her  teachers,  who  soon  came  to  trust  Magdalen 
Lennox  as  they  had  seldom  trusted  any  pupil  before  her. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  lingered  at  Millbank  until  the  foliage,  so 
fresh  and  green  when  she  came,  changed  into  scarlet  and  gold, 
and  finally  fell  to  the  ground.  Every  day  she  stayed  was  clear 
gain  to  her,  and  so  she  waited  until  her  friends  had  all  returned 
to  the  city,  and  then  took  her  departure  and  went  back  to  New 
York,  tolerably  well  satisfied  with  her  visit  at  Millbank.  She 
had  made  a  good  thing  of  it  on  the  whole.  She  had  managed 


92  ALICE   GREY. 

to  pay  two  or  three  little  bills  which  were  annoying  her  terribly, 
for  she  did  not  like  to  be  ir.  debt.  She  had  secured  herself  a 
blue  silk  and  a  black  silk,  and  a  handsome  velvet  cloak,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  hundred  dollars,  which  Roger  had  sent  for  ser 
vices  rendered  to  Magdalen,  and  what  was  better  for  her  peace 
of  mind,  she  had  made  herself  believe  that  there  was  nothing 
very  wrong  in  the  transaction.  She  would  have  shrunk  from 
theft,  had  she  called  it  by  that  name,  almost  as  much  as  from 
midnight  murder,  but  what  she  had  done  was  not  theft,  nor  yet 
was  it  dishonesty.  It  was  simply  taking  a  small  part  of  what 
belonged  to  her,  for  she  firmly  believed  in  the  will,  and  always 
would  believe  in  it,  whether  it  was  found  or  not.  So  she 
sported  her  handsome  velvet  cloak  on  Broadway,  and  wore  her 
blue-silk  dress,  without  a  qualm  of  conscience  or  a  thought 
that  they  had  come  to  her  unlawfully. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ALICE    GREY. 

[HILE  the  events  we  have  narrated  were  transpiring  at 
Millbank,  the  New  York  train  bound  for  Albany  had 
stopped  one  summer  afternoon  at  a  little  station  on 
the  river,  and  then  sped  on  its  way,  leaving  a  track  of  smoke 
and  dust  behind  it.  From  the  platform  of  the  depot  a  young 
girl  watched  the  cars  till  they  passed  out  of  sight,  and  then, 
with  something  like  a  sigh,  entered  the  carriage  waiting  for  her. 
Nobody  had  come  to  meet  her  but  the  driver,  who  touched  his 
hat  respectfully,  and  then  busied  himself  with  the  baggage.  The 
girl  did  not  ask  him  any  questions.  She  only  looked  up  into 
his  face  with  a  wistful,  questioning  gaze,  which  he  seemed  to 
understand ;  for  he  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  said,  "  Bad  again, 
and  gone." 


ALICE   GREY.  93 

Then  an  expression  of  deep  sorrow  flitted  over  the  girl's 
face,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  stepped  into  the  car 
riage.  The  road  led  several  miles  back  from  the  rivei 
and  up  one  winding  hill  after  another,  so  that  the  twi 
light  shadows  were  fading,  and  the  night  was  shutting  in  the 
beautiful  mountain  scenery,  ere  the  carriage  passed  through 
a  broad,  handsome  park  to  the  side  entrance  of  a  massive 
brick  building,  where  it  stopped,  and  the  young  girl  sprang 
out,  and  ran  hastily  up  the  steps  into  the  hall.  There  was 
no  one  there  to  meet  her.  Nothing  but  silence  and  loneliness, 
and  the  moonlight,  which  fell  across  the  floor,  and  made  the 
young  girl  shiver  as  she  went  on  to  the  end  of  the  hall,  where 
a  door  opened  suddenly,  and  a  slight,  straight  woman  appeared 
with  iron-grey  puffs  around  her  forehead,  diamonds  in  her  ears, 
diamonds  on  her  soft  white  hands,  and  diamonds  fastening  the 
lace  ruffle,  which  finished  the  neck  of  her  black-satin  dress 
She  was  a  proud-looking  woman,  with  a  stern,  haughty  face, 
which  relaxed  into  something  like  a  smile  when  she  saw  the 
young  girl,  who  sprang  forward  with  a  cry,  which  might  per 
haps  have  been  construed  into  a  cry  of  joy,  if  the  words  which 
followed  had  been  different. 

"  0,  auntie,"  she  said,  taking  the  hand  offered  her,  and  put 
ting  up  her  lips  for  the  kiss  so  gravely  given —  "  O,  auntie,  why 
did  father  send  for  me  to  come  home  from  the  only  place  where 
I  was  ever  happy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Your  father's  ways  are  ways  of  mystery  to 
me,"  the  lady  said ;  and  then,  as  if  touched  with  something  like 
pity  for  the  desolate  creature  who  had  been  brought  from  "  the 
only  place  where  she  was  ever  happy,"  to  this  home  where  she 
could  not  be  very  happy,  the  lady  drew  her  to  a  couch,  and 
untied  the  blue  ribbons  of  the  hat,  and  unbuttoned  the  gray 
sack,  doing  it  all  with  a  kind  of  caressing  tenderness  which 
s  howed  how  dear  the  young  girl  was  to  her. 

"  But  did  he  give  you  no  reason,  auntie  ?  What  did  he  say 
when  he  told  you  I  was  coming  ?  "  the  girl  asked  vehemently, 
and  the  lady  replied  : 


94  ALICE    GREY. 

"He  was  away  from  Beechwood  several  days,  travelling  in 
New  England,  and  when  he  came  back  he  told  me  he  had  left  or 
ders  for  you  to  come  home  at  once.  I  thought,  from  what  he 
said,  that  he  saw  you  in  New  Haven." 

"  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  him  till  Mr.  Baldwin  came,  and 
said  I  was  to  leave  school  for  home,  and  he  was  to  be  my  es 
cort.  It's  very  strange  that  he  should  want  me  home  now. 
Robert  told  me  she  was  gone  again.  Did  she  get  very  bad? '  " 

The  voice  which  asked  this  question  was  sad  and  low,  like  the 
voices  of  those  who  talk  of  their  dead  ;  and  the  voice  which 
answered  was  low,  too,  in  its  tones. 

"  Yes,  she  took  to  rocking  and  singing  night  as  well  as  day, 
and  that,  you  know,  makes  your  father  nervous  sooner  than 
anything  else." 

"  Did  she  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  begged  to  stay  at  first,  but  went  quietly  enough  at 
the  last." 

"Did  she  ever  mention  me,  auntie?  Do  you  think  she  missed 
me  and  wanted  me  ?  " 

"  She  spoke  of  you  once.  She  said,  '  If  Allie  was  here,  she 
wouldn't  let  me  go.'  " 

"  O,  poor,  poor  darling !    O,  auntie,  it's  terrible,  isn't  it?" 

Alice  was  sobbing  now,  and  amid  her  sobs  she  asked  : 

"  Was  father  gentle  with  her,  and  kind  ?  " 

"Yes,  gentler,  more  patient  than  I  have  known  him  for  years. 
It  almost  seemed  as  if  something  must  have  happened  to  him 
while  he  was  gone,  for  he  was  very  quiet  and  thoughtful  when 
he  came  home,  and  did  not  order  nearly  as  many  brandy  slings, 
though  he  smoked  all  the  time." 

"  Not  in  her  room  !  "  and  the  girl  looked  quickly  up. 

"  No,  not  in  her  room,  —  he  spared  her  that ;  and  when  she 
first  began  to  rock  and  sing,  he  tried  his  best  to  quiet  her,  but 
he  couldn't.  She  was  worse  than  usual." 

"  Oh,  how  dreadful  our  life  is  ?  "  Alice  said  again,  while  a 
shiver  as  if  she  were  cold  ran  over  her.  "  I  used  to  envy  the 
girls  at  school  who  were  looking  forward  with  such  delight  to 


ALICE    GREY.  95 

their  vacations,  when  I  had  nothing  but  this  for  my  portion.  It 
is  better  than  I  deserve,  I  know,  and  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  mur 
mur  ;  but,  auntie,  nobody  can  ever  envy  me  my  home  ! " 

Her  white  fingers  were  pressed  to  her  eyes,  and  the  tears 
were  streaming  through  them,  as  she  sat  there  weeping  so  bit 
terly,  the  fair  young  girl  whom  Magdalen  Lennox  had  envied  for 
her  beauty,  her  muslin  dress,  her  mother,  her  home  !  Alas ! 
Magdalen,  playing,  and  working,  and  eating,  and  living  in  the 
great  kitchen  at  Millbank,  had  known  more  of  genuine  home 
happiness  in  a  month  than  poor  Alice  Grey  had  known  in  her 
whole  life.  And  yet  Alice's  home  presented  to  the  eye  a  most 
beautiful  and  desirable  aspect.  There  were  soft  velvet  carpets 
on  all  the  floors,  mirrors  and  curtains  of  costly  lace  in  all  the 
rooms,  with  pictures,  and  books,  and  shells,  and  rare  ornaments 
from  foreign  lands  ;  handsome  grounds,  with  winding  walks  and 
terraced  banks  and  patches  of  flowers,  and  fountains,  and  trees, 
and  rustic  seats,  and  vine-wreathed  arbors,  and  shady  nooks, 
suggestive  of  quiet,  delicious  repose  ;  horses  and  carriages,  and 
plenty  of  servants  at  command.  This  was  Alice's  home,  and 
it  stood  upon  the  mountain-side,  overlooking  the  valley  of  the 
Hudson,  which  could  be  seen  at  intervals  winding  its  way  to 
the  sea. 

An  old  Scotch  servant,  who  had  been  in  the  family  for  years, 
came  into  the  library  where  Alice  was  sitting,  and  after  warmly 
welcoming  her  bonny  mistress,  told  her  tea  was  waiting  in  the 
little  supper  room,  where  the  table  was  laid  with  the  prettiest 
of  tea-cloths,  and  the  solid  silver  contrasted  so  brightly  with  the 
pure  white  china.  There  were  luscious  strawberries,  fresh  from 
the  vines,  and  sweet,  thick  cream  from  Hannah's  milk-house, 
and  the  nice  hot  tea-cakes  which  Alice  loved,  and  her  glass  of 
water  from  her  favorite  spring  under  the  rock,  and  Lucy  stood 
and  waited  on  her  with  as  much  deference  as  if  she  had  been  a 
queen. 

Alice  was  very  tired,  and  soon  after  tea  was  over  she  asked 
permission  to  retire,  and  Nannie,  her  own  waiting-maid,  went 
with  her  up  the  broad  staircase  and  through  the  upper  hall  to 


96  ALICE    GREY. 

her  room,  which  was  over  the  library,  and  had,  like  that,  a  bay- 
window  looking  off  into  the  distant  valley. 

Nannie  was  all  attention,  but  Alice  did  not  want  her  that 
night.  She  would  rather  be  alone  ;  and  she  dismissed  the  girl, 
saying  to  her  with  a  smile,  "  I  had  no  good  Nannie  at  school 
to  undress  me  and  put  up  my  things.  We  had  to  wait  on  cur- 
selves  ;  so  you  see  I  have  become  quite  a  little  woman,  a:id 
shall  often  dispense  with  your  services." 

With  her  door  shut  on  Nannie,  Alice  went  straight  to  her 
window,  through  which  the  moonlight  was  streaming,  and  kneel 
ing  down  with  her  head  upon  the  sill,  she  prayed  earnestly  for 
grace  to  bear  the  loneliness  and  desolation  weighing  so  heavily 
on  her  spirits. 

Although  a  child  in  years,  Alice  Grey  had  long  since  learned 
at  whose  feet  to  lay  her  burdens.  Her  religion  was  a  part  of 
her  whole  being,  and  she  made  it  very  beautiful  with  her  loving, 
consistent  life.  Her  school  companions  had  dubbed  her  the 
little  "Puritan,"  and  sometimes  laughed  at  her  for  what  they 
called  her  straight-laced  notions;  but  there  was  not  one  of  them 
who  did  not  love  the  gentle  Alice  Grey,  or  who  would  not  have 
trusted  her  implicitly,  and  stood  by  her  against  the  entire 
school. 

Alice  knew  that  she  was  apt  to  murmur  too  much  at  the 
darkness  overshadowing  her  home,  and  to  forget  the  many 
blessings  which  crowned  her  life,  and  she  now  asked  forgive 
ness  for  it,  and  prayed  for  a  spirit  of  thankfulness  for  all  the 
good  Heaven  had  bestowed  upon  her.  And  then  she  asked 
that,  if  possible,  the  shadow  might  be  lifted  from  the  life  of  one 
who  was  at  once  a  terror  and  an  object  of  her  deepest  solicitude 
and  love. 

Prayer  with  Alice  was  no  mere  form  to  be  gone  through  ;  it 
was  a  real  thing,  —  a  communing  with  a  living  Presence,  —  and 
she  grew  quiet  and  calm  under  its  influence,  and  sat  for  a  time 
drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  night,  and  looking  far  off  across  the 
valley  to  the  hills  beyond,  —  the  hills  nearer  to  New  Haven, 
—  where  she  had  been  so  happy.  Then,  as  she  felt  strong 


ALICE    GREY.  97 

enough  to  bear  it,  she  took  her  lamp,  and  went  noiselessly 
down  the  wide  hall  and  through  a  green-baize  door  into  a  nar 
row  passage  which  led  away  from  the  front  part  of  the  building. 
Before  one  of  the  doors  she  paused,  and  felt  again  the  same 
heart-beat  she  had  so  many  times  experienced  when  she  drew 
near  that  door  and  heard  the  peculiar  sound  which  always  made 
her  for  a  moment  faint  and  sick.  But  that  sound  was  hushed 
now,  and  the  room  into  which  Alice  finally  entered  was  silent 
as  the  grave  ;  and  the  moon,  which  came  through  the  windows 
in  such  broad  sheets  of  silvery  light,  showed  that  it  was  empty 
of  all  human  life  save  that  of  the  young  girl  who  stood  looking 
round,  her  lip  quivering  and  her  eyes  filling  with  tears  as  one 
familiar  object  after  another  met  her  view. 

There  was  the  cradle  in  the  corner,  just  where  it  had  stood 
for  years,  and  the  carpet  in  that  spot  told  of  the  constant  mo 
tion  which  had  worn  the  threads  away ;  and  there,  too,  was  the 
chair  by  the  window,  where  Alice  had  so  often  seen  a  wasted 
figure  sit,  and  the  bed  with  its  snowy  coverings,  to  which  sleep 
was  almost  a  stranger.  Alice  knelt  by  this  bed,  and  with  her 
hand  upon  the  crib  which  seemed  to  bring  the  absent  one  so 
near  to  her,  she  prayed  again,  and  her  tears  fell  like  rain  upon  the 
pillows  which  she  kissed  for  the  sake  of  the  feverish,  restless 
head  which  had  so  often  lain  there. 

"  Poor  darling,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  that  Alice  is  here 
to-night  in  your  own  room  ?  Do  you  know  that  she  is  praying 
for  you,  and  loving  you.  and  pitying  you  so  much  ?  " 

Then  as  the  words  "if  Allie  was  here  I  shouldn't  have  to  go 
away,"  recurred  to  her  mind,  she  sobbed,  "No,  darling,  if  Allie 
had  been  here  you  should  not  have  gone,  and  now  that  she  is 
here,  she'll  bring  you  back  again  ere  long,  and  bear  with  all  your 
fancies  more  patiently  than  she  ever  did  before." 

There  was  another  kiss  upon  the  pillow  as  if  it  had  been  a 

living  face,  and  Alice's  fair  hands  petted   and   caressed   and 

smoothed  the  ruffled  linen,  and  then   she  turned  away  and 

passed  again  into  the  passage  and  through  the  green-baize  doo.r, 

5 


98  ALICE   GREY. 

back  into  the  broader  hall,  where  the  air  seemed  purer,  and  she 
breathed  free  again. 

The  morning  succeeding  Alice's  return  to  Beechwood  was 
cool  and  beautiful,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly  through  the 
white  mist  which  lay  on  the  river  and  curled  up  the  mountain 
side.  Alice  was  awake  early,  and  when  Nan  came  to  call  her 
she  found  her  dressed  and  sitting  by  the  open  window,  looking 
out  upon  the  grounds  and  the  park  beyond. 

"You  see  I  have  stolen  a  march  upon  you,  Nannie,"  Alice 
said;  "but  you  may  unlock  that  largest  trunk,  and  help  me  put 
up  my  things." 

The  trunk  was  opened,  and  with  Nannie's  assistance  Alice 
hung  away  all  her  pretty  dresses,  which  were  useless  in  this  re 
tired  neighborhood,  where  they  saw  so  few  people.  The  tucked 
muslin,  which  Magdalen  had  admired  in  the  picture,  Nan  folded 
carefully,  smoothing  out  the  rich  Valenciennes  lace  and  laying 
it  away  in  a  drawer,  to  grow  yellow  and  limp,  perhaps,  ere  it  was 
worn  again.  Alice's  chief  occupation  at  Beechwood  was  to 
wander  through  the  grounds  or  climb  over  the  mountains  and 
hills,  with  Nan  or  the  house  dog  Rover  as  escorts ;  and  so  she 
seldom  wore  the  dresses  which  had  been  the  envy  of  her  school 
mates.  She  cared  little  for  dress,  and  when  at  last  she  went 
down  to  the  breakfast  room  to  meet  her  stately  aunt,  she  wore 
a  simple  blue  gingham,  and  a  white-linen  apron,  with  dainty  little 
pockets  all  ruffled  and  fluted  and  looking  as  fresh  and  pure  as 
she  looked  herself,  with  her  wavy  hair,  and  eyes  of  violet  blue. 

Her  aunt,  in  her  iron-gray  puffs,  and  morning-gown  of  silvery 
gray  satin,  was  very  precise  and  ceremonious,  and  kissed  her 
graciously,  and  then  presided  at  the  table  with  as  much  formal 
ity  as  if  she  had  been  giving  a  state  dinner.  There  were  straw 
berries  again,  and  flaky  rolls,  and  fragrant  chocolate,  and  a  nice 
broiled  trout  from  a  brook  among  the  hills,  where  Tom  had 
caught  it  for  his  young  lady,  who,  with  a  schoolgirl's  keen  appe 
tite,  ate  far  too  fast  to  please  her  aunt,  who,  nevertheless,  would 
not  reprove  her  that  first  morning  home.  Breakfast  being 


ALICE   GREY.  99 

over,  Alice,  who  was  expecting  her  father  that  day,  went 
to  his  room  to  see  that  it  was  in  order.  It  adjoined  the  apart 
ment  where  she  had  knelt  in  tears  the  preceding  night,  and 
there  was  a  door  between  the  two  ;  but,  while  the  other  had 
been  somewhat  bare  of  ornament  and  handsome  furniture, 
it  would  seem  as  if  the  master  of  the  house  had  racked 
his  brain  to  find  rare  and  costly  things  with  which  to  deck  his 
own  private  room.  There  were  marks  of  wealth  and  luxury 
visible  everywhere,  from  the  heavy  tassels  which  looped  the 
lace  curtains  of  the  alcove  where  the  massive  rosewood  bed 
stead  stood,  to  the  expensive  pictures  on  the  wall,  —  French 
pictures  many  of  them,  —  showing  a  taste  which  some  would 
call  highly  cultivated,  and  others  questionable.  Alice  detested 
them,  and  before  one,  which  she  considered  the  worst,  she  had 
once  hung  her  shawl  in  token  of  her  disapprobation.  She  was 
accustomed  to  them  now,  and  she  merely  gave  them  a  glance, 
and  then  moved  on  to  a  pencil  sketch,  which  she  had  never 
seen  before.  It  was  evidently  a  graveyard  scene,  for  there 
were  evergreens  and  shrubs,  and  a  tall  monument,  and  near 
them  a  little  barefoot  girl,  with  a  basket  of  flowers,  which  she 
was  laying  on  the  grave.  Alice  knew  it  was  her  father's  draw 
ing,  and  she  studied  it  intently,  wondering  where  he  got  his 
idea,  and  who  was  the  little  girl,  and  whose  the  grave  she  was 
decorating  with  flowers.  Then  she  turned  from  the  picture  to 
her  father's  writing-desk,  and  opened  drawer  after  drawer  until 
she  came  to  one  containing  nothing  but  a  faded  bouquet  of 
flowers,  such  as  the  girl  in  the  picture  might  have  been  putting 
on  the  grave,  and  a  little  lock  of  yellow  hair.  Pinned  about 
the  hair  was  a  paper,  which  bore  the  same  date  as  did  that  let 
ter  which  Roger  Irving  guarded  with  so  much  care. 

Alice  had  heard  of  Roger  Irving  from  Frank,  who  called  him 
"uncle"  when  speaking  of  him  to  her.  She  had  him  in  her 
mind  as  quite  an  elderly  man,  with  iron-gray  hair,  perhaps,  such 
as  her  auntie  wore,  and  she  had  thought  she  would  like  to  see 
Frank's  paragon  of  excellence ;  but  she  had  no  idea  how  neai 


IOO  ALICE    GREY. 

he  was  brought  to  her  by  that  faded  bouquet  and  that  lock  of 
golden  hair,  which  so  excited  her  curiosity. 

Her  father  had  always  been  a  mystery  to  her.  That  there 
was  something  in  his  past  life  which  he  wished  to  conceal,  she 
felt  sure,  just  as  she  was  certain  that  he  was  to  blame  for  that 
shattered  wreck  which  sometimes  made  Beechwood  a  terror  and 
a  dread,  but  to  which  Alice  clung  with  so  filial  devotion.  There 
was  very  little  in  common  between  Alice  and  her  father.  A 
thorough  man  of  the  world,  with  no  regard  for  anything  holy 
and  good,  except  as  it  helped  to  raise  him  in  the  estimation  of 
his  fellows,  Mr.  Grey  could  no  more  understand  his  gentle 
daughter,  whose  life  was  so  pure  and  consistent,  and  so  con 
stant  a  rebuke  to  him,  than  she  could  sympathize  with  him  in 
his  ways  of  thinking  and  acting.  There  was  a  time  when  in 
his  heart  he  had  said  there  was  no  God,  —  a  time  when,  without 
the  slightest  hesitancy,  he  would  have  trampled  upon  all  God's 
divine  institutions  and  set  his  laws  at  naught ;  and  the  teachings 
of  one  as  fascinating  and  agreeable  as  Arthur  Grey  had  been 
productive  of  more  harm  than  this  life  would  ever  show,  for 
they  had  reached  on  even  to  the  other  world,  where  some  of  his 
deluded  followers  had  gone  before  him.  But  as  Alice  grew  into 
girlhood,  with  her  sweet  face  and  the  example  of  her  holy  Chris 
tian  life,  there  was  a  change,  and  people  said  that  Arthur  Grey 
was  a  better  man.  Outwardly  he  was,  perhaps.  He  said  no 
longer  there  was  no  God.  He  knew  there  was  when  he  looked 
at  his  patient,  self-denying  daughter,  and  he  knew  that  Grace 
alone  had  made  her  what  she  was.  For  Alice's  sake  he  admit 
ted  Alice's  God,  and,  because  he  knew  it  helped  him  in  various 
ways,  he  paid  all  due  deference  to  the  forms  of  religion,  and 
none  were  more  regular  in  their  attendance  at  the  little  church 
on  the  mountain  side  than  he,  or  paid  more  liberally  to  every 
religious  and  charitable  object.  He  believed  himself  that  he 
had  reformed,  and  he  charged  the  reform  to  Alice  and  the  mem 
ory  of  a  golden-haired  woman  whom  he  had  loved  better  than 
he  had  since  loved  a  human  being,  save  his  daughter  Alice.  But 
far  greater  than  his  love  for  his  daughter  was  his  love  of  selfj 


ALICE    GREY.  IOI 

and  because  it  suited  him  to  do  it  he  took  his  child  from  school 
without  the  shadow  of  an  excuse  to  her,  and  was  now  making 
other  arrangements  for  her  without  so  much  as  asking  how  she 
would  like  them.  He  did  not  greatly  care.  If  it  suited  him  it 
must  suit  her  ;  and,  as  the  first  step  toward  the  accomplishment 
of  his  object,  he  removed  from  Beechwood  the  great  trial  of  hi? 
life,  and  put  it  where  it  could  not  trouble  him,  and  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  its  entreaties  to  be  taken  back  to  "home"  and  "Allie" 
and  the  "  crib"  its  poor  arms  had  rocked  so  many  weary  nights. 
He  knew  the  people  with  whom  he  left  his  charge  were  kind  and 
considerate.  He  had  tested  them  in  that  respect ;  he  paid  them 
largely  for  what  they  did.  "  Laura  "  was  better  there  than  at 
Beechwood,  he  believed ;  at  all  events  he  wanted  her  out  of  his 
way  for  a  time,  and  so  he  had  unclasped  her  clinging  arms  from 
his  neck  and  kissed  her  flushed,  tear-stained  face,  and  put  her 
from  him,  and  locked  the  door  upon  her,  and  gone  his  way, 
thinking  that  when  he  served  himself  he  was  doing  the  best 
thing  which  Arthur  Grey  could  do. 

He  was  coming  home  the  night  after  Alice's  arrival,  and  the 
carriage  went  down  to  the  station  to  meet  him.  There  was 
a  haze  in  the  sky,  and  the  moon  was  not  as  bright  as  on  the 
previous  night,  when  Allie  rode  up  the  mountain  side ;  but  it 
was  very  pleasant  and  cool,  and  Mr.  Grey  enjoyed  his  ride,  and 
thought  how  well  he  had  managed  everything,  and  was  glad  he 
had  been  so  kind  and  gentle  with  Laura,  and  sent  her  that 
basket  of  fruit,  and  that  pretty  little  cradle,  which  he  found  in 
New  York  ;  and  then  he  thought  of  Alice,  and  his  heart  gave  a 
throb  of  pleasure  when  he  saw  the  gleam  of  her  white  dress 
through  the  moonlight  as  she  came  out  to  meet  him.  There 
was  a  questioning  look  in  her  eyes,  —  a  grieved,  sorry  kind  ot 
expression,  —  which  he  saw  as  he  led  her  into  the  hall,  and  he 
kissed  her  very  tenderly,  and,  smoothing  her  chestnut  hair,  said 
in  reply  to  that  look  : 

"I  knew  you  would  hate  to  leave  school,  Allie  ;  but  I  am 
going  to  take  you  to  Europe." 


IO2  ALICE    GREY. 

"  To  Europe  ?  Oh,  father  !  "  And  Alice  gave  a  scream  ol 
joy. 

A  trip  to  Europe  had  been  her  dream  of  perfect  happiness, 
and  now  that  the  dream  was  to  be  fulfilled,  it  seemed  too  good 
to  be  true. 

"  Oh,  auntie ! "  she  cried,  running  up  to  that  stately  lady, 
who,  in  her  iron-gray  puffs  and  black  satin  of  the  previous  night, 
was  coming  slowly  to  meet  her  brother,  —  "  Auntie,  we  are  go 
ing  to  Europe,  all  of  us  !  Isn't  it  splendid  ?  " 

She  was  very  beautiful  in  her  white  dress,  with  her  blue  eyes 
shining  so  bright!}',  and  she  hung  about  her  father  in  a  caress 
ing  way,  and  played  and  sang  his  favorite  songs ;  and  then, 
when  at  last  he  bade  her  good-night,  she  shook  her  curly  head, 
and,  holding  fast  his  hand,  went  with  him  up  the  stairs  to  his 
own  room,  which  she  entered  with  him.  She  felt  that  he  did  not 
want  her  there ;  but  she  stayed  just  the  same,  and,  seating  her 
self  upon  his  knee,  laid  her  soft,  white  arms  across  his  neck, 
and,  looking  straight  into  his  eyes,  pleaded  earnestly  for  the 
poor  creature  who  had  been  an  occupant  of  the  adjoining 
room. 

"  Let  her  go  with  us,  father.  I  am  sure  the  voyage  would  do 
her  good.  Don't  leave  her  there  alone." 

But  Mr.  Grey  said  "  No,"  gently  at  first,  then  very  firmly  as 
Alice  grew  more  earnest,  and,  finally,  so  sternly  and  decidedly, 
that  Alice  gave  it  up,  with  a  great  gush  of  tears,  and  only  asked 
permission  to  see  her  once  before  she  sailed.  But  to  this  Mr. 
Grey  answered  no,  also. 

"  It  would  only  excite  her,"  he  said  ;  "and  the  more  quiet 
she  is  kept,  the  better  it  is  for  her.  I  have  seen  that  everything 
is  provided  for  her  comfort.  She  is  better  there  than  here,  or 
with  us  across  the  sea.  We  shall  be  absent  several  years,  per 
haps,  as  I  intend  putting  you  at  some  good  school  where  you 
will  finish  your  education." 

He  intimated  a  wish  for  her  to  leave  him  then,  and  so  she 
bade  him  good-night,  and  left  him  alone  with  his  thoughts, 
which  were  not  of  the  most  agreeable  nature.  How  still  it 


ALICE   GREY.  103 

was  in  the  next  room  !  — so  still,  that  he  trembled  as  he  opened 
the  door  and  went  in,  where  Alice  had  wept  so  bitterly.  He 
did  not  weep  ;  he  never  wept ;  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  feeling 
of  oppression  and  pain  as  he  glanced  around  the  quiet,  ord  erly 
room,  at  the  chair  by  the  window,  the  bed  in  the  corner,  and 
the  crib  standing  near. 

"  What  could  have  put  that  idea  into  her  head  ?  "  he  asked 
himself,  as,  with  his  hand  upon  the  cradle,  he  made  the  motion 
which  poor  Laura  kept  up  so  constantly. 

Then  with  a  sigh  he  went  back  to  his  own  room,  and  stood 
a  long  time  before  that  picture  of  the  graveyard,  which  hung 
upon  the  wall.  There  was  a  softness  now  in  his  eyes  and  man 
ner,  —  a  softness  which  increased  when  he  turned  to  his  chair 
by  the  writing-desk,  and  took  from  a  drawer  the  faded  flowers 
and  the  curl  of  hair  which  Alice  had  found. 

"Poor  Jessie  !  I  wish  I  had  never  crossed  her  path,"  he  said, 
as  he  put  the  curl  and  flowers  away,  and  thought  again  of  Alice 
and  the  little  dark-eyed  girl  who  had  designated  her  "  Frank's 
Alice  Grey." 

" Frank's,  indeed!"  he  said;  "I  trust  I  have  effectually 
stopped  any  foolishness  of  that  kind." 

Frank  Irving  was  evidently  not  a  favorite  with  Mr.  Grey, 
though  not  a  word  was  ever  said  of  him  to  Alice,  who,  as  the 
days  went  by,  began  to  be  reconciled  to  her  removal  from 
school,  and  to  interest  herself  in  her  preparations  for  the  trip  to 
Europe.  They  were  to  sail  the  last  of  August,  and  one  morn 
ing,  in  October,  Magdalen  received  a  letter  from  Frank,  saying 
that  he  had  just  heard,  from  one  of  Miss  Dana's  pupils,  that 
Alice  Grey  had  gone  to  Italy. 


IO4  A  RETROSPECT. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    RETROSPECT. 

IX  years  have  passed  away  and  we  lift  the  curtain  of 
our  story  in  Charlestown,  and,  after  pausing  there  a 
moment,  go  back  across  the  bridge  which  spans  the 
interval  between  the  present  and  the  past.  It  was  the  day  but 
one  before  the  close  of  the  term,  and  those  who  had  learned  to 
love  each  other  with  a  school-girl's  warm,  impetuous  love, 
would  soon  part,  some  forever  and  some  to  meet  again,  but 
when,  or  where,  none  could  tell. 

"  It  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever  ! " 

sang  a  clear,  bird-like  voice  in  the  music-room,  where  Magda 
len  Lennox  was  practising  the  song  she  was  to  sing  the  follow 
ing  night. 

"  Yes,  it  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever !  I  wish 
there  were  no  such  thing  as  parting  from  those  we  love,"  the 
young  girl  sighed,  as,  with  her  sheet  of  music  in  her  hand,  she 
passed  through  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs,  to  the  room  which 
had  been  hers  so  long. 

Magdalen  had  been  very  happy  at  Charlestown,  where  every 
one  loved  her,  from  the  teacher,  whom  she  never  annoyed,  to 
the  smallest  child,  whom  she  so  often  helped  and  encouraged  ; 
and  she  had  enjoyed  her  vacations  at  Millbank,  and  more  than 
once  had  taken  two  or  three  of  her  young  friends  there  for  the 
winter  or  summer  holidays.  And  Hester  had  petted,  and  ad 
mired,  and  waited  upon  her,  and  scolded  her  for  soiling  so 
many  white  skirts,  and  then  had  sat  up  nights  to  iron  these 
skirts,  and  had  remarked,  with  a  feeling  of  pride  and  complac 
ency,  that  Hattie  Johnson's  dresses  were  not  as  full  or  as  long 
as  Magdalen's.  Hester  was  very  proud  of  Magdalen  ;  they 
were  all  proud  of  her  at  Millbank,  and  vied  with  each  other  in 
their  attentions  to  her ;  and  Magdalen  appreciated  their  kind 


A   RETROSPECT.  105 

ness,  and  loved  her  pleasant  home,  and  thought  there  was  i.a 
place  like  it  in  the  world ;  but  for  all  that  she  rather  dreaded 
returning  to  it  for  good,  with  nothing  to  look  forward  to  in  the 
future.  She  understood  her  position  now  far  better  than  when 
she  was  a  child,  and  as  she  thought  over  the  strange  circum 
stances  which  had  resulted  \$.  bringing  her  to  Millbank,  her 
cheeks  had  burned  crimson  for  the  mother  who  had  so  wan 
tonly  deserted  her.  Still  she  could  not  hate  that  mother,  and 
her  nightly  prayers  always  ended  with  a  blessing  upon  her,  and 
a  petition  that  she  might  sometime  find  her,  or  know,  at  least, 
who  she  was.  She  knew  she  had  no  claim  on  Roger  Irving, 
and,  as  she  grew  older,  she  shrank  from  a  life  of  dependence  at 
Millbank,  especially  as  Frank  was  likely  to  be  there  a  good 
share  of  his  time. 

With  all  the  ardor  of  her  impulsive  nature  she  had  clung  to 
and  believed  in  him,  until  the  day  when  he,  too,  said  good-by, 
and  left  her  for  Europe.  He  had  been  graduated  with  tolera 
ble  credit  to  himself,  and  because  of  his  fine  oratorical  ability 
had  appeared  upon  the  stage,  and  made  what  Magdalen  had 
thought  a  "splendid  speech  •"  for  Magdalen  was  there  in  the 
old  Centre  Church,  listening  with  wrapt  attention,  and  a  face 
radiant  with  the  admiration  she  felt  for  her  hero,  whose  grace 
ful  gestures  and  clear,  musical  voice  covered  a  multitude  of 
defects  in  his  rather  milk-and-watery  declamation.  It  was 
Magdalen's  bouquet  which  had  fallen  directly  at  his  feet  when 
his  speech  was  ended,  and  nothing  could  have  been  prettier 
than  his  manner  as  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and  then  bowed 
his  thanks  to  the  young  girl,  whose  face  flushed  all  over  with 
pride,  both  then  and  afterward,  when,  in  the  evening,  she  leaned 
upon  his  arm  at  the  reception  given  to  the  students  and  their 
friends.  Magdalen  was  a  little  girl  of  thirteen-and-a-half,  while 
Frank  was  twenty-two ;  -was  a  graduate ;  was  Mr.  Irving,  of 
New  York  ;  and  could  afford  to  patronize  her,  and  at  the  same 
time  be  very  polite  and  attentive  to  scores  of  young  ladies 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  during  his  college  career. 

After  that  July  day  in  New  Haven,  the  happiest  and  proud- 
5* 


IO6  A  RETROSPECT. 

cst  of  Magdalen's  life,  he  went  with  her  to  Millbank,  and  fished 
again  in  the  Connecticut,  and  hunted  in  the  woods,  and  smoked 
his  cigars  beneath  the  maple-trees,  and  teazed  and  tyrannized 
over,  and  petted,  and  made  a  slave  of  Magdalen,  just  as  the 
fancy  took  him.  Then  there  came  a  letter  from  Roger,  writ 
ten  after  the  receipt  of  one  frorn^  Magdalen,  who,  because  she 
fancied  it  might  please  her  hero,  had  said  how  much  Frank 
would  enjoy  a  year's  travel  in  Europe,  and  how  much  good  it 
would  do  him,  especially  as  he  was  looking  worn  and  thin  from 
his  recent  close  application  to  study. 

Roger  bit  his  lip  when  he  read  that  letter  and  wondered  if 
the  hint  was  Frank's  suggestion,  and  wondered,  too,  if  it  were 
best  to  act  upon  it ;  and  then,  with  a  genuine  desire  to  see  his 
young  kinsman,  he  wrote  to  Frank,  inviting  him  to  Paris,  and 
offering  to  defray  his  expenses  for  a  year  in  Europe.  Frank 
was  almost  beside  himself  with  joy,  for,  except  at  Millbank,  he 
felt  that  he  had  no  home,  proper,  in  the  world.  His  mother 
had  been  compelled  to  rent  her  handsome  house,  and  board 
with  the  people  who  rented  it.  This  just  supported  her,  and 
nothing  more.  He  would  be  in  the  way  in  Lexington  Avenue, 
and  he  accepted  Roger's  invitation  eagerly ;  and  one  bright 
day,  in  September,  sailed  out  of  the  harbor  at  New  York,  while 
Magdalen  stood  on  the  shore  and  waved  her  handkerchief  to 
him  until  the  vessel  passed  from  sight. 

The  one  year  abroad  had  grown  into  five  ;  Roger  was  fond 
of  travel ;  he  had  plenty  of  money  at  his  command ;  it  was  as 
cheap  living  in  Europe  as  at  Millbank,  where  under  efficient 
superintendence  everything  seemed  to  go  on  as  well  without  as 
with  him.  He  never  encroached  upon  his  principal,  even  after 
Frank  came  to  be  his  companion,  and  so  he  had  lingered  year 
after  year,  sometimes  in  glorious  Italy,  sometimes  climbing  the 
sides  of  Switzerland's  snow-capped  mountains,  sometimes  wan 
dering  through  the  Holy  Land  or  exploring  the  river  Nile,  and 
again  resting  for  months  on  the  vine-clad  hills  which  over 
shadow  the  legendary  Rhine.  Frank  was  not  always  with  him. 
He  did  not  care  for  pictures,  or  scenery,  or  works  of  art ;  and 


A  RETROSPECT.  IO? 

when  Roger  stopped  for  months  to  improve  himself  in  these, 
Frank  went  his  own  way  to  voluptuous  Pari-s,  where  the  gay 
society  suited  him  better,  or  on  to  the  beautiful  island  of  Ischia, 
where  all  was  "  so  still,  so  green,  and  so  dreamy,"  and  where  at 
the  little  mountain  inn,  called  the  "  Piccola  Sentinella,"  and 
which  overlooked  the  sea,  he  met  again  with  Alice  Grey. 

But  any  hopes  he  might  have  entertained  with  regard  to  the 
girl  whom  he  had  admired  so  much  in  New  Haven  were  effectu 
ally  cut  off  by  the  studied  coolness  of  Mr.  Grey's  manner  to 
wards  him,  and  the  obstacles  constantly  thrown  in  the  way  of 
his  seeing  her  alone.  Mr.  Grey  did  not  like  Frank  Irving,  and 
soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  latter  at  the  "  Piccola  Sentinella," 
he  gave  up  his  rooms  at  the  inn,  and  started  with  his  daughter 
for  Switzerland.  There  was  a  break  then  in  Frank's  letters  to 
Magdalen,  and  when  at  last  he  wrote  again  it  was  to  say  that 
he  was  coming  home,  and  that  Roger  was  coming  with  him. 

This  letter,  which  reached  Magdalen  the  night  preceding 
the  examination,  awoke  within  her  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  and 
disquiet.  She  had  been  always  more  or  less  afraid  of  Roger, 
and  she  was  especially  so  now  that  she  had  not  seen  him  for 
more  than  eight  years,  and  he  would  undoubtedly  expect  so 
much  from  her  as  a  graduate  and  a  young  lady  of  eighteen. 
She  almost  wished  he  would  stay  in  Europe,  or  that  she  had 
some  other  home  than  Millbank.  It  would  not  be  half  so 
pleasant  with  the  master  there,  as  it  used  to  be  in  other  days 
when  she  was  a  little  girl  fishing  with  Frank  in  the  river,  or 
hunting  with  him  in  the  woods.  Frank  would  be  at  Millbank, 
too,  it  was  true;  but  the  travelled  Frank,  who  spoke  French 
like  a  native,  was  very  different  from  the  Frank  of  five  years 
ago,  and  Magdalen  dreaded  him  almost  as  much  as  she 
dreaded  Roger  himself,  wondering  if  he  would  tease  her  as  he 
used  to  do,  and  if  he  would  think  her  improved  and  at  all  like 
Alice  Grey,  whom  she  knew  he  had  met  again  at  the  "  Piccola 
Sentinella."  "  I  wish  they  would  stay  abroad  five  years  more," 
she  thought,  as  she  finished  reading  Frank's  letter ;  and  her 
cheeks  grew  so  hot  and  red,  and  her  pulse  beat  so  rapidly,  that 


108  IN  THE  EVENING. 

it  was  long  after  midnight  ere  she  could  quiet  herself  for  the 
rest  she  would  need  on  the  morrow,  when  she  was  to  act  so 
conspicuous  a  part. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN     THE      EVENING. 

jIAGDALEN  was  very  beautiful  in  her  white,  fleecy 
dress,  which  swept  backward  with  as  broad  and  grace 
ful  a  sweep  as  ever  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  had  done 
when  she  walked  the  halls  at  Millbank.  There  were  flowers  on 
her  bosom,  knots  of  flowers  on  her  short  sleeves,  and  flowers  in 
her  wavy  hair,  which  was  arranged  in  heavy  coils  about  her  head, 
with  one  or  two  curls  falling  behind  her  ears.  She  knew  she 
was  handsome ;  she  had  been  told  that  too  often  not  to  know  it ; 
while  had  there  been  no  other  means  of  knowledge  within  her 
reach,  her  mirror  would  have  set  her  right.  But  Magdalen  was 
not  vain,  and  there  was  not  the  slightest  tinge  of  self-conscious 
ness  in  her  manner  as  she  went  through  the  various  parts  as 
signed  her  during  the  day,  and  received  the  homage  of  the 
crowd.  Once  her  room-mate  had  asked  if  she  did  not  wish 
Mr.  Irving  could  be  present  in  the  evening,  and  Magdalen  had 
answered,  "  No,  I  would  not  have  him  here  for  the  world.  I 
should  be  sure  to  make  a  miserable  failure,  if  I  knew  Mr.  Ir 
ving  and  Frank  were  looking  on.  But  there  is  no  danger  of 
that.  They  cannot  have  reached  New  York  yet." 

Later  in  the  day,  and  just  as  it  was  growing  dark,  a  young 
girl  came  into  Magdalen's  room,  talking  eagerly  of  "the  two 
most  splendid-looking  men  she  had  ever  seen." 

"  They  came,"  she  said,  "  out  of  the  hotel  and  walked  before 
me  all  the  way,  looking  hard  at  the  seminary  as  they  passed  it. 
I  wonder  who  they  were.  Both  were  handsome,  and  one  was 
perfectly  splendid." 


Iff  THE   EVEMNG  ICKJ 

When  Nellie  Freeman  was  talking  her  companions  usually 
listened  to  her,  and  they  did  so  now,  laughing  at  her  enthusiasm, 
and  asking  several  questions  concerning  the  strangers  who  had 
interested  her  so  much.  Magdalen  said  nothing,  and  her  cheek 
turned  pale  for  an  instant  as  something  in  Nellie's  description 
of  the  younger  gentleman  made  her  wonder  if  the  strangers 
could  be  Frank  and  Roger.  But  no  :  they  could  not  have 
reached  New  York  yet,  and  if  they  had,  they  would  not  come 
onlNo  Charlestown  without  apprising  her  of  their  intentions, 
unless  they  wished  to  see  her  first  without  being  themselves 
seen.  The  very  idea  of  the  latter  possibility  made  Magdalen 
faint,  and  she  asked  if  one  of  the  gentlemen  was  "  oldish  look 
ing?" 

"  No,  both  young,  decidedly  so,"  was  Nellie's  reply,  which 
decided  the  matter  for  Magdalen. 

It  was  not  Roger  Irving.  She  had  seen  no  picture  of  him 
since  the  one  sent  her  six  years  ago,  and  judging  him  by  her 
self  he  must  have  changed  a  great  deal  since  then.  To  girls 
of  eighteen,  thirty-two  seems  old  ;  and  Roger  was  thirty-two,  and 
consequently  old,  and  very  patriarchal,  in  Magdalen's  estima 
tion.  There  were  some  gray  hairs  in  his  head,  and  he  began  to 
stoop,  and  wear  glasses  when  he  read,  if  the  print  was  fine  and 
the  light  dim,  she  presumed.  Nellie's  hero  was  not  Roger,  and 
Magdalen  arranged  the  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  smoothed  the 
long  curls  which  fell  upon  her  neck,  and  clasped  her  gold  brace 
lets  on  her  arms,  and  then,  when  it  was  time,  appeared  before 
the  assembled  crowd,  who  hailed  her"  with  acclamations  of  joy, 
and  when  her  brilliant  performance  at  the  piano  was  ended, 
sent  after  her  such  cheers  as  called  her  back  again,  not  to  play 
this  time,  but  merely  to  bow  before  the  audience,  which  show 
ered  her  with  bouquets.  Very  gracefully  she  acknowledged  the 
compliment  paid  to  her,  and  then  retired,  her  cheeks  burning 
scarlet  and  her  heart  throbbing  painfully  as  she  thought  of  the 
face  which  she  had  seen  far  back  among  the  spectators,  just  be 
fore  she  left  the  stage.  Was  it  Frank  who  was  standing  on  his 
feet  and  applauding  her  so  heartily,  and  was  that  Roger  beside 


110  ROGER  AND   FRANK. 

him  ?  If  so,  she  could  never  face  that  crowd  again  and  sing 
Kathleen  Mavourneen.  And  yet  she  must.  They  were  calling 
for  her  now,  and  with  a  tremendous  effort  of  the  will  she  quieted 
her  beating  heart  and  went  again  before  the  people.  But  she 
did  not  look  across  the  room  toward  the  two  figures  in  the 
corner.  She  only  knew  there  was  a  movement  in  that  direction 
as  if  some  person  or  persons  were  going  out,  just  as  she  tooL 
her  place  by  the  piano.  At  first  her  voice  trembled  a  little, 
but  gradually  it  grew  steadier,  clearer,  and  more  bird-like  in  its 
tones,  while  the  people  listened  breathlessly,  and  tears'  rushed 
to  the  eyes  of  some  as  she  threw  her  whole  soul  into  the  pa 
thetic  words,  "  It  may  be  for  years  and  it  may  be  forever." 
She  did  not  think  of  the  possible  presence  of  Roger  and  Frank 
then.  She  was  thinking  more  of  those  from  whom  she  was  to 
separate  so  soon,  and  she  sang  as  she  had  never  sung  before, 
so  sweetly,  so  distinctly,  that  not  a  word  was  lost,  and  when 
the  song  was  ended  there  came  a  pause  as  if  her  listeners 
were  loth  to  stir  until  the  last  faint  echo  of  the  glorious  music 
had  died  away.  Then  followed  a  storm  of  applause,  before 
which  all  other  cheers  were  as  nothing,  and  bouquets  of  the 
costliest  kind  fell  in  showers  at  her  feet.  Over  one  of  these  she 
partly  stumbled,  and  was  stooping  to  pick  it  up  when  a  young 
man  sprang  to  her  side,  and  picking  it  up  for  her,  said  to  her 
in  tones  which  thrilled  her  through  and  through,  "Take  my 
arm,  Magdalen,  and  come  with  me  to  Roger." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ROGER   AND    FRANK. 


I  HE   steamer  in  which  Roger  and  Frank   sailed   for 
America  had  reached   New  York  three  days  before 
Magdalen  believed  it   due.     In  her  tasteful   parlor, 
where  her  handsomest  furniture  was  arranged,   Mrs.   Waltei 


ROGER  AND  FRANK.  .  Ill 

Scott  had  received  the  travellers,  lamenting  to  Roger  amid  her 
words  of  welcome  that  she  could  not  entertain  him  now  as  she 
could  once  have*done  when  at  the  head  of  her  own  household 
She  was  a  boarder  still,  and  her  income  had  not  increased  dur 
ing  the  last  five  years.  Her  dresses  were  made  to  last  longei 
than  of  old,  and  she  always  thought  twice  before  indulging  in 
any  new  vanity.  Still  she  was  in  excellent  spirits,  induced  in 
part  by  meeting  her  son  again,  and  partly  by  a  plan  which  she 
had  in  her  mind  and  meant  to  carry  out.  It  appeared  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  when  speaking  of  Magdalen,  who  was  so 
soon  to  be  graduated  and  return  to  Millbank. 

"  You'll  be  wanting  some  lady  of  experience  and  culture  as 
a  companion  for  Miss  Lennox.  Have  you  decided  upon  any 
one  in  particular  ? "  she  said  to  Roger,  who  looked  at  her  in 
astonishment,  wondering  what  she  meant. 

She  explained  her  meaning,  and  made  him  understand  that 
to  a  portion  of  the  world  at  least  it  would  seem  highly  improper 
for  a  young  lady  like  Magdalen  to  live  at  Millbank  without 
some  suitable  companion  as  a  chaperone.  She  did  not  hint 
that  she  would  under  any  circumstances  fill  that  place.  Neither 
did  Roger  then  suspect  her  motive.  He  was  a  little  disap 
pointed  and  a  little  sorry,  too,  that  any  one  should  think  it 
necessary  for  a  second  party  to  stand  between  him  and  Mag 
dalen.  He  had  met  with  many  brilliant  belles  in  foreign  lands, 
high-born  dames  and  court  ladies  with  titles  to  their  names,  and 
some  of  'iiese  had  smiled  graciously  upon  the  young  American, 
and  thought  it  worth  their  while  to  flatter  and  admire  him,  but 
not  one  of  all  the  gay  throng  had  ever  made  Roger's  heart  beat 
one  throb  the  faster.  Women  were  not  to  him  what  they  were 
to  fickle,  flirting  Frank,  and  that  he  would  ever  marry  did  not 
seem  to  him  very  probable,  unless  he  found  some  one  widely 
different  from  the  ladies  with  whom  he  had  come  in  contact. 
Of  Magdalen,  his  baby,  he  always  thought  as  he  had  last  seen 
her,  with  her  shaker-bonnet  hanging  down  her  back,  and  eyes 
brimfull  of  tears  as  she  leaned  over  the  gate  watching  him 
going  down  the  avenue  and  away  from  Millbank.  To  him  she 


112  ROGER  AND  FRANK. 

was  only  a  child,  whose  frolicsome  ways  and  merry  laugh,  and 
warm-hearted,  impulsive  manner  he  liked  to  remember  as  some 
thing  which  would  still  exist  when  he  -eturned  to  Millbank. 
But  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  tore  the  veil  away.  Magdalen  was  a 
young  lady,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  and  Roger  began  to  feel  a  little 
uneasy  with  regard  to  the  manner  in  which  he  would  be  ex 
pected  to  treat  her.  As  a  father,  or  at  most  as  her  elder 
brother  and  guardian,  he  thought ;  but  he  could  not  see  the 
necessity  for  that  third  person  at  Millbank  just  because  a  few 
of  Mrs.  Grundy's  daughters  might  require  it.  At  all  events  he 
would  wait  and  see  what  Magdalen  was  like  before  he  decided. 
He  was  to  start  next  day  for  Millbank,  whither  a  telegram  had 
been  sent  telling  of  his  arrival,  and  producing  a  great  commo 
tion  among  the  servants. 

Hester  was  an  old  woman  now  of  nearly  seventy,  but  her 
form  was  square  and  straight  as  ever,  and  life  was  very  strong 
within  her  yet.  With  Aleck,  whom  time  had  touched  less  lightly, 
she  still  reigned  supreme  at  Millbank.  Ruey  was  long  since 
married  and  gone,  and  six  children  played  around  her  door. 
Rosy-cheeked  Bessie,  who  had  taken  Ruey' s  place,  was  lying  out 
in  the  graveyard  not  far  from  Squire  Irving' s  monument,  and 
Ruth  now  did  her  work,  and  came  at  Hester's  call,  after  the 
telegram  was  read.  The  house  was  always  kept  in  order,  but 
this  summer  it  had  undergone  a  thorough  renovation  in  honor 
of  Roger's  expected  arrival,  and  so  it  was  only  needful  that  the 
rooms  should  be  opened  and  aired,  and  fresh  linen  put  upon 
the  beds,  and  water  carried  to  the  chambers,  for  Frank  was  to 
accompany  Roger.  When  all  was  done,  the  house  looked  very 
neat  and  cool  and  inviting,  and  to  Roger,  who  had  not  seen  it 
for  eight  years,  it  seemed,  with  its  pleasant  grounds  and  the 
scent  of  new-mown  hay  upon  the  lawn,  like  a  second  Eden,  as 
he  rode  up  the  avenue  to  the  door,  where  his  old  servants  wel 
comed  him  so  warmly.  Hester,  who  was  not  given  to  tears, 
cried  with  joy  and  pride  as  she  led  her  boy  into  the  house,  and 
looked  into  his  face  and  told  him  he  had  not  grown  old  a  bit, 
and  ttiat  she  thought  him  greatly  improved,  except  for  that  hair 


ROGER    AND  FRANK.  1 13 

about  his  mouth.     "She'd  cut  that  off,  the  very  first  thing  she 
did,  for  how  under  the  sun  and  moon  was  he  ever  going  to  eat  ?  " 

And  Roger  laughed  good-humoredly,  and  told  her  his  mus 
tache  was  his  pet,  and  wound  his  arm  around  her  and  kissed 
her  affectionately,  and  said  she  was  handsomer  than  any  woman 
he'd  seen  since  he  left  home. 

"  In  the  Lord's  name,  what  kind  of  company  must  the  boy 
have  kept?"  old  Hester  retorted,  feeling  flattered  nevertheless, 
and  thinking  her  boy  the  handsomest  and  best  she  had  ever 
seen. 

It  was  Frank  who  proposed  going  on  to  Charlestown  to  es 
cort  Magdalen  home,  and  who  suggested  that  they  should  not 
introduce  themselves  until  they  had  first  seen  her,  and  Roger 
consented  to  the  plan  and  went  with  his  nephew  to  Charles- 
town,  and  took  his  seat  among  the  spectators,  feeling  very  anx 
ious  for  Magdalen  to  appear,  and  wondering  how  she  would 
look  as  a  young  lady.  He  could  not  realize  the  fact  that  she 
was  eighteen.  In  his  mind  she  was  the  little  girl  leaning  over 
the  gate  with  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears,  while  Frank  re 
membered  her  standing  upon  the  wharf,  her  face  very  red  with 
the  autumnal  wind  which  tossed  her  dress  so  unmercifully,  and 
showed  her  big  feet,  wrinkled  stockings,  and  shapeless  ankles. 
Neither  of  them  had  a  programme,  and  they  did  not  know  when 
she  was  coming,  and  when  at  last  she  came,  Roger  did  not 
recognize  her  at  first. .  But  Frank's  exclamation  of  something 
more  than  surprise  as  he  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet,  warned  him 
that  it  was  Magdalen  who  bore  herself  so  like  a  queen  as  she 
took  her  seat  at  the  piano.  The  little  girl  in  the  shaker,  lean 
ing  over  the  gate,  faded  before  this  vision  of  beautiful  girlhood, 
and  for  a  moment  Roger  felt  as  a  father  might  feel  who  after  an 
absence  of  eight  years  returns  to  find  his  only  child  developed 
into  a  lovely  woman.  His  surprise  and  admiration  kept  him 
silent,  while  his  eyes  took  in  the  fresh,  glowing  beauty  of  Mag 
dalen's  face,  and  his  well-trained  ears  drank  in  the  glorious 
music  she  was  making.  Frank,  on  the  contrary,  was  restless 
and  impatient.  Had  it  been  possible,  he  would  have  gone  to 


114  ROGER  AND  FRANK. 

Magdalen  at  once,  and  stood  guard  over  her  against  the  glances 
of  those  who,  he  felt,  had  no  right  to  look  at  her  as  they  were 
looking.  He  saw  that  she  was  the  bright  star,  around  which  the 
interest  of  the  entire  audience  centred,  and  he  wanted  to  claim 
her  before  them  all  as  something  belonging  exclusively  to  the 
Irving  family,  but,  wedged  in  as  he  was,  he  could  not  well  effect 
his  egress,  and  he  sat  eagerly  listening  or  rather  looking  at  Mag 
dalen.  He  could  hardly  be  said  to  hear  her,  although  he  knew 
how  well  she  was  acquitting  herself.  He  was  watching  her 
glowing  face  and  noticing  the  glossy  waves  of  her  hair,  the  long 
curls  on  her  neck,  and  the  graceful  motions  of  her  white  hands 
and  arms,  and  was  thinking  what  a  regal-looking  creature  she 
was,  and  how  delightful  it  would  be  at  Millbank,  where  one 
could  have  her  all  to  himself.  He  did  not  regard  Roger  as  in 
his  way  at  all.  Roger  never  cared  for  women  as  he  did.  Roger 
was  wholly  given  to  books,  and  would  not  in  the  least  interfere 
with  the  long  walks,  and  rides,  and  tete-a-tetes  which  Frank  had 
rapidly  planned  to  enjoy  with  Magdalen  even  before  she  left  the 
stage  for  the  first  time.  When  she  came  back  to  sing  he  could 
sit  still  no  longer,  but  forced  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
and  went  round  to  her  just  in  time  to  escort  her  from  the 
stage.  His  appearance  was  so  sudden,  and  Magdffen  was  so 
surprised,  that  ere  she  realized  at  all  what  it  meant,  she  had 
taken  Frank's  offered  arm,  and  he  was  leading  her  past  the 
group  of  young  girls  who  sent  many  curious  glances  after  him, 
and  whispered  to  each  other  that  he  must  be  the  younger  Mr. 
Irving. 

Frank  was  wonderfully  improved  in  looks,  and  there  was  in 
his  manner  a  watchful  tenderness  and  deference  toward  ladies, 
very  gratifying  to  those  who  like  to  feel  that  they  are  cared  for 
and  looked  after,  and  their  slightest  wish  anticipated.  And 
Magdalen  felt  it  even  during  the  moment  they  were  walking 
down  the  hall  to  the  little  reception  room,  where  Frank  turned 
her  more  fully  to  the  light,  and  said  :  "  Excuse  me,  but  I  must 
look  at  you  again.  Do  you  know  how  beautiful  you  have 


ROGER  AND  FRANK.  11$ 

grown  ?     As  your  brother,  I  think  I  might  kiss  you  after  my 
long  absence." 

Magdalen  did  not  tell  him  he  was  not  her  brother,  but  she 
took  a  step  backward,  while  a  look  flashed  into  her  eyes,  which 
warned  Frank  that  his  days  for  kissing  her  were  over. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Irving?"  she  asked;  and  then,  seating  her  in 
a  chair,  and  thoughtfully  dropping  the  curtain  so  that  the  cool 
night  air,  which  had  in  it  a  feeling  of  rain,  should  not  blow  so 
directly  upon  her  uncovered  neck,  Frank  left  her  and  went  for 
Roger. 

Magdalen  would  have  kissed  Roger  as  she  thought  of  him 
while  sitting  there  waiting  for  him,  but  when  he  came,  and  stood 
before  her,  she  would  as  soon  have  kissed  Frank  himself,  as 
the  elegant^ooking  young  man  whose  dark-blue  eyes  and  rich, 
brown  hair  with  a  dash  of  gold  in  it,  were  all  that  were  left  of 
the  Roger  who  went  from  her  eight  years  ago.  He  was  entirely 
different  from  Frank,  both  in  looks  and  style  and  manner.  He 
could  not  bend  over  a  woman  with  such  brooding  tenderness, 
and  make  her  think  every  thought  and  wish  were  subservient  to 
his  own,  but  there  was  something  about  him  which  impressed 
one  with  the  genuine  goodness  and  honesty  of  the  man  who  was 
worth  a  dozen  Franks.  And  Magdalen  felt  it  at  once,  and  gave 
her  hand  trustingly  to  him,  and  did  not  try  to  draw  back  from 
him  when,  as  a  father  would  have  kissed  his  child,  he  bent  over 
her,  and  kissed  her  fair  brow,  and  told  her  how  glad  he  was  to 
see  her,  and  how  much  she  was  improved. 

"  I  should  never  have  recognized  you  but  for  Frank,"  he 
said.  "  You  have  changed  so  much  from  the  little  girl  "who 
leaned  over  the  gate  to  bid  me  good-by.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

Magdalen  did  remember  it,  and  her  sorrow  at  parting  with 
Roger,  and  could  hardly  realize  that  he  had  come  back  to  her 
again.  He  was  very  kind,  very  attentive  ;  and  she  felt  a  thrill 
of  pride  as  she  walked  through  the  halls  or  talked  to  her  com 
panions,  with  Roger  and  Frank  on  either  side  of  her,  Frank  so 
absorbed  in  her  as  to  pay  no  heed  to  those  around  him,  while 
Roger  never  for  a  moment  forgot  that  something  was  due  tc 


Il6  ROGER  AND  FRANK. 

others  as  *vell  as  to  Magdalen.  He  saw  her  all  the  time,  and 
heard  every  word  she  said,  and  marked  how  well  she  said  it,  but 
he  was  attentive  and  courteous  to  others,  and  made  himself  so 
agreeable  to  Nellie  Freeman,  to  whom  Magdalen  introduced 
him,  that  she  dreamed  of  him  that  night,  and  went  next  morn 
ing  to  the  depot  on  pretence  of  bidding  Magdalen  good-by  a 
second  time,  but  really  for  the  sake  of  seeing  Mr.  Irving. 

As  Roger  was  anxious  to  return  home  as  soon  as  possible, 
they  left  Charlestown  on  an  early  train  and  reached  Millbank 
at  two  o'clock.  Dinner  was  waiting  for  them,  while  Hester  in 
her  clean  brown  gingham,  with  her  white  apron  tied  around  hex 
waist,  stood  in  the  door,  ready  to  welcome  her  young  people. 

Magdalen  was  her  first  object  of  attention,  and  the  old  lady 
kissed  her  lovingly,  and  then  went  with  her  to  her  pleasant 
chamber,  which  looked  so  cool  and  airy  with  its  matting,  and 
curtains  of  muslin  looped  with  blue,  and  its  snowy  white  bed 
in  the  corner.  She  could  not  change  her  dress  before  dinner, 
for  her  trunks  had  not  been  sent  up,  but  she  bathed  her 
heated  face,  and  put  on  a  fresh  pair  of  cuffs  and  a  clean  linen 
collar,  and  then,  with  her  damp  hair  one  mass  g£  waves  and 
little  curls,  she  went  down  to  the  dining-room,  where  Roger  met 
her  at  the  door  and  led  her  to  the  head  of  his  table,  installing 
her  as  mistress,  and  bidding  her  do  the  honors  as  the  young  lady 
of  the  house.  In  spite  of  her  gray  dress,  unrelieved  by  any 
color  except  the  garnet  pin  which  fastened  her  collar,  Magda 
len  looked  very  handsome  as  she  presided  at  Roger's  table,  and 
her  white  hands  moved  gracefully  among  the  silver  service  ;  for 
there  was  fragrant  coffee  for  dinner,  with  rich  sweet  cream  from 
the  morning's  milk,  and  Hester,  who  cared  little  for  fashions, 
had  sent  it  .up  with  the  meats,  because  she  knew  Roger  would 
like  it  best  that  way. 

The  dinner  over,  the  party  separated,  Magdalen  going  to  her 
room  to  put  her  things  away,  Frank  sauntering  off  to  the  sum 
mer-house,  with  his  box  of  cigars,  and  Roger  joining  Hester, 
who  had  so  much  to  tell  him  of  the  affairs  at  Millbank  since  he 
went  away. 


LIFE  AT  MILLS  A  NK.  II? 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

LIFE     AT     MILLI3ANK. 

|AGDALEN  was  very  fresh  and  bright  next  morning 
when  she  went  down  to  breakfast,  in  her  white  cambric 
wrapper,  just  short  enough  in  front  to  show  her  small, 
trim  foot  and  well-shaped  ankle,  which  Frank  saw  at  once. 
There  were  no  wrinkles  in  her  stockings,  and  the  little  high- 
heeled  slippers  were  as  unlike  as  possible  to  the  big  shoes 
which  he  remembered  so  well,  wondering  at  the  change,  and 
never  guessing  that  Magdalen's  persisting  in  wearing  shoes  too 
large  for  her  while  growing,  had  helped  to  form  the  little  feet 
which  he  admired  so  much  as  they  tripped  up  and  down  the 
stairs  or  through  the  halls,  with  him  always  hovering  near. 
Her  bright,  sprightly  manner,  which  had  in  it  a  certain  spice 
of  recklessness  and  daring,  just  suited  him,  and  as  the  days 
went  by,  and  he  became  more  and  more  fascinated  with  her, 
he  followed  her  like  her  shadow,  feeling  glad  that  so  much  of 
Roger's  attention  was  necessarily  given  to  his  agents  and 
overseers,  who  came  so  often  to  Millbank,  that  he  at  last 
opened  an  office  in  the  village,  where  he  spent  most  of  his 
time,  thus  leaving  Frank  free  to  walk  and  talk  with  Magdalen 
as  much  as  he  pleased.  And  he  improved  his  opportunity, 
and  was  seldom  absent  from  her  side  more  than  a  few 
moments  at  a  time.  At  first  this  devotion  was  very  grati 
fying  to  Magdalen,  who  still  regarded  Frank  as  the  hero  of 
her  childhood,  but  after  a  few  weeks  of  constant  intercourse 
with  him,  the  spell  which  had  bound  her  was  broken,  and  she 
began  to  tire  a  little  of  his  attentions,  and  wish  sometimes  to 
be  alone. 

One  afternoon  they  were  sitting  together  by  the  river,  on  the 
mossy  bank,  beneath  the  large  buttonwood  tree,  where  they 
had  spent  so  many  pleasant  hours  in  the  years  gone  by,  and 
Frank  was  talking  of  his  future,  and  deploring  his  poverty  as  a 


IlS  LIFE  AT  MILLBANK. 

hindrance  to  his  ever  becoming  popular  or  even  successful  ii» 
anything. 

"  Now,  if  I  were  Roger,"  said  he,  "with  his  twenty-five  thou 
sand  a  year,  it  would  make  a  great  difference.  But  here  I  am, 
most  twenty-seven  years  old,  with  no  profession,  no  means  of 
earning  an  honest  livelihood,  and  only  the  yearly  interest  of  six 
thousand  dollars,  which,  if  I  were  to  indulge  my  tastes,  would 
barely  keep  me  in  cigars  and  gloves  and  neckties.  I  tell  you 
what,  Magdalen,  it's  mighty  inconvenient  to  be  so  poor." 

As  he  delivered  himself  of  this  speech,  Frank  stretched  him 
self  upon  the  grass  and  gave  a  lazy  puff  at  his  cigar,  while  his 
face  wore  a  kind  of  martyred  look  as  if  the  world  had  dealt 
very  harshly  with  him.  Magdalen  was  thoroughly  angry,  and 
her  eye  flashed  indignantly,  as  she  turned  towards  him.  He 
had  been  at  Millbank  nearly  four  weeks,  and  showed  no  inten 
tion  of  leaving  it.  "Just  sponging  his  board  out  of  Roger," 
Hester  said ;  and  the  old  lady's  remarks  had  their  effect  on  Mag 
dalen,  who  herself  began  to  wonder  if  it  was  Frank's  intention 
to  leave  the  care  of  his  support  entirely  to  his  uncle.  It  was 
her  nature  to  say  out  what  she  thought,  and  turning  to  Frank, 
she  said  abruptly,  "  If  you  are  so  poor,  why  dorit  you  go  to  work 
and  do  something  for  yourself?  If  I  were  a  man,  with  as  many 
avenues  open  to  me  as  there  are  to  men,  I  would  not  sit  idly 
down  and  bemoan  the  fate  which  had  given  me  only  six  thou 
sand  dollars.  I'd  make  the  most  of  that,  and  do  something  for 
myself.  I  do  not  advise  you  to  go  away  from  Millbank,  if  there 
is  anything  you  can  do  here ;  but,  honestly,  Frank,  I  think  it 
would  look  better  if  you  were  trying  to  help  yourself  instead 
of  depending  upon  Mr.  Irving,  who  has  been  so  kind  to  you. 
And  what  I  say  to  you  I  mean  also  for  myself.  There  is  no 
reason  why  /  should  be  any  longer  a  dependent  here,  and  as 
soon  as  I  can  find  a  situation  as  teacher  or  governess  I  shall 
accept  it,  and  you  will  see  I  can  practise  what  I  preach.  I 
did  not  mean  to  wound  you,  Frank,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
both  of  us  have  received  enough  at  Mr.  Irving's  hands,  and 


LIFE  AT  MILLBANK,  119 

should  now  try  to  help  ourselves.  You  are  not  angiy  with  me, 
I  hope  ?  " 

She  was  looking  at  him  with  her  great  bright  eyes  so  kindly 
and  trustingly  that  he  could  not  be  angry  with  her,  though  he 
winced  a  little  and  wished  that  she  had  not  been  quite  so  plain 
and  outspoken  with  him.  It  was  the  first  time  any  one  had 
put  it  before  him  in  plain  words  that  he  was  living  on  Roger, 
and  it  hurt  him  cruelly  that  Magdalen  should  be  the  one  to 
rebuke  him.  Still  he  would  not  let  her  see  his  annoyance,  and 
he  tried  to  appear  natural  as  he  answered,  "  I  could  not  be 
angry  with  you,  especially  when  you  tell  me  only  the  truth.  I 
ought  not  to  live  on  Roger,  and  I  don't  mean  to,  any  longer. 
I'll  go  into  his  office  to-morrow.  I  heard  him  say  he  wanted  a 
clerk  to  do  some  of  his  writing.  I'll  be  that  clerk,  and  work 
like  a  dog.  Will  that  suit  you,  Maggie  ?  " 

Ere  Magdalen  could  reply,  a  footstep  was  heard,  and  Roger 
came  round  a  bend  in  the  river,  fanning  himself  with  his  straw 
hat,  and  looking  very  much  heated  with  his  rapid  walk. 

"  I  thought  I  should  find  you  here,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  splen 
did  place  for  a  hot  day.  I  wish  I'd  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy 
this  delicious  shade  as  you  two  seem  to  be  doing ;  but  I  must 
disturb  you,  Frank.  Your  mother  has  just  arrived,  and  is  quite 
anxious  to  see  you." 

Frank  would  far  rather  have  stayed  down  by  the  river,  and 
mentally  wishing  his  mother  in  Guinea,  he  rather  languidly 
arose  and  walked  away,  leaving  Magdalen  alone  with  Roger. 
Taking  the  seat  Frank  had  vacated,  he  laid  his  hat  upon  the 
grass,  and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  elbow  began  to  talk  very 
freely  and  familiarly,  asking  Magdalen  if  she  missed  her  school 
mates  any,  and  if  she  did  not  think  Millbank  a  much  pleasanter 
place  than  Charlestown. 

Here  was  the  very  opening  Magdalen  desired;  —  here  a 
chance  to  prove  that  she  was  sincere  in  wishing  to  do  some 
thing  for  herself,  and  in  a  few  words  she  made  her  intentions 
known  to  Roger,  who  quickly  lifted  himself  from  his  reclining 
position,  and  turned  toward  her  a  troubled,  surprised  face  as 


120  LIFE  AT  MILLBANK. 

he  asked  why  she  wished  to  leave  Millbank.  "  Ar<j  you  not 
happy  here,  Magda?  " 

He  had  written  that  name  once  to  her,  but  had  not  called 
her  thus  before  in  her  hearing;  and  now  as  he  did  so  his  voice 
was  so  low  and  kind  and  winning,  that  the  tears  sprang  to  Mag 
dalen's  eyes,  and  she  felt  for  a  moment  a  pang  of  homesickness 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  Millbank. 

"  Yes,  very  happy,"  she  said ;  "  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  remain  a  dependent  upon  you,  and  before  I  left  the 
Seminary  I  determined  to  earn  my  own  living  as  soon  as  an 
opportunity  presented  itself.  I  cannot  forget  that  I  have  no 
right  to  be  here,  no  claim  upon  you." 

"  No  claim  up  me,  Magdalen  !  No  right  to  be  here  ! "  Roger 
exclaimed.  "  As  well  might  a  daughter  say  she  had  no  right  in 
her  father's  house." 

"  I  am  not  your  daughter,  Mr.  Irving.  I  am  nobody's  daugh 
ter,  so  far  as  I  know :  or  if  I  am,  I  ought  perhaps  to  blush  for  the 
parents  who  deserted  me.  I  have  no  name,  no  home,  except 
what  you  so  kindly  gave  me,  and  you  have  been  kind,  Mr.  Ir 
ving,  very,  very  kind,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  burden 
you  now  that  I  am  able  to  take  care  of  fliyself.  O,  mother, 
mother !  if  I  could  only  find  her,  or  know  why  she  treated  me 
so  cruelly." 

Magdalen  was  sobbing  now,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 
and  Roger  could  see  the  great  tears  dropping  from  between 
her  fingers.  He  knew  she  was  crying  for  the  mother  she  had 
never  known,  and  that  shame,  quite  as  much  as  filial  affection, 
was  the  cause  of  her  distress,  and  he  pitied  her  so  much,  know 
ing  just  how  she  felt;  for  there  had  been  a  time  when  he,  too, 
was  tormented  with  doubts  concerning  his  own  mother,  the 
golden -haired  Jessie,  who  was  now  cherished  in  his  memory  as 
the  purest  of  women.  He  was  very  sorry  for  Magdalen,  and 
very  uncertain  as  to  what,  under  the  circumstances,  it  was 
proper  for  him  to  do.  The  world  said  she  was  a  young  lady, 
and  if  Roger  had  seen  as  much  of  her  during  the  last  four  weeks 
as  Frank  had  seen,  he  might  have  thought  so  too.  But  so 


LIFE  AT  MILLBANK.  121 

absorbed  had  he  been  in  his  business,  and  so  much  of  his  time 
had  been  taken  up  with  looking  over  accounts  and  receipts, 
and  listening  to  what  his  agents  had  done,  that  he  had  given  no 
very  special  attention  to  Magdalen,  further  than  that  perfect 
courtesy  and  politeness  which  he  would  award  to  any  lady. 
He  knew  that  she  was  very  bright  and  pretty  and  sprightly,  and 
that  the  tripping  of  her  footsteps  and  the  rustle  of  her  white 
dress,  and  the  sound  of  her  clear,  rich  voice,  breaking  out  in 
merry  peals  of  laughter,  or  singing  in  the  twilight,  made  Mill- 
bank  very  pleasant ;  but  he  thought  of  her  still  as  a  child,  his 
little  child,  whom  he  had  held  in  his  lap  in  the  dusty  car  and 
hushed  to  sleep  in  his  arms.  She  was  only  eighteen,  he  was 
thirty-two ;  and  with  that  difference  between  them,  he  might 
surely  soothe  and  comfort  her  as  if  she  really  were  his  daugh 
ter.  Moving  so  near  to  her  that  her  muslin  dress  swept  across 
his  feet,  he  laid  his  hand  very  gently  upon  her  hair,  and  Mag 
dalen,  when  she  felt  the  pitying,  caressing  touch  of  that  great 
broad,  warm  hand,  which  seemed  in  some  way  to  encircle  and 
shield  her  from  all  care  or  sorrow,  bowed  her  head  upon  her 
lap,  and  cried  more  bitterly  than  before,  —  cried  now  with  a  feel 
ing  of  utter  desolation,  as  she  began  dimly  to  realize  what  it 
would  be  to  go  away  from  Millbank  and  its  master. 

"  Poor  Magda,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  in  it  all  a  father's 
tenderness,  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  so  much  distressed.  I  can 
guess  in  part  at  the  cause  of  your  tears.  You  are  crying  for 
your  mother,  just  as  I  have  cried  for  mine  many  and  many  a 
time." 

"  No,  not  as  you  have  cried  for  yours,"  Magdalen  said,  lift 
ing  up  her  head  and  flashing  her  brilliant  eyes  upon  him. 
"  Hester  has  told  me  about  your  mother.  You  believe  her 
pure  and  good,  while  mine  —  oh,  Mr.  Irving,  I  don't  know 
what  I  believe  of  mine." 

"  Try  to  believe  the  best,  then,  until  you  know  the  worst ; " 

and  Roger  laid  his  arm  across  Magdalen's  shoulders  and  drew 

her  nearer  to  him,  as  he  continued :  "  I  have  thought  a  great 

deal  about  that  woman  who  left  you  in  my  care.     I  believe  she 

6 


122  LIFE  AT  MILLBANK. 

was  crazy,  made  so  by  some  great  sorrow,  —  your  father's  death, 
perhaps,  —  for  she  was  dressed  in  black ;  and,  if  so,  she  was 
not  responsible  for  what  she  did,  and  you  need  not  question 
her  motives.  She  had  a  young,  innocent  face,  and  bright, 
handsome  eyes  like  yours,  Magda." 

Every  time  he  spoke  that  name,  Magdalen  felt  a  strange 
thrill  creep  through  her  veins,  and  she  grew  very  quiet  while 
Roger  talked  to  her  of  her  mother,  and  the  time  when  he 
found  himself  with  a  helpless  child  upon  his  hands. 

"  I  adopted  you  then  as  my  own,  —  my  little  baby,"  he  said. 
"  You  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  the  bargain  was  of  my  making, 
and  you  cannot  break  it.  I  have  never  given  up  my  guardian 
ship,  never  mean  to  give  it  up  until  some  one  claims  you  who 
has  a  better  right  than  I  to  my  little  girl.  And  this  I  am  say 
ing  in  answer  to  your  proposition  of  going  away  from  Millbank, 
because  you  have  no  right  here,  —  no  claim  on  me.  I  am  sorry 
that  you  should  feel  so,  — you  have  a  claim  on  me,  —  I  cannot 
let  you  go,  —  Millbank  would  be  very  lonely  without  you, 
Magda." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and,  looking  off  upon  the  hills  across 
the  river,  seemed  to  be  thinking  intently.  But  it  was  not  of 
the  interpretation  which  many  young  girls  of  eighteen  might 
put  upon  his  words  and  manner.  Nothing  could  be  further 
from  his  mind  than  making  love  to  Magdalen.  He  really 
felt  as  if  he  stood  to  her  in  the  relation  of  a  father,  and  that  she 
had  the  same  claim  upon  him  which  a  child  has  upon  a  parent. 
Her  proposition  to  leave  Millbank  disturbed  him,  and  led 
him  to  think  that  perhaps  he  was  in  some  way  at  fault.  He 
had  not  been  very  attentive  to  her  ;  —  he  had  been  so  much  ab 
sorbed  in  his  business  as  to  forget  that  any  attentions  were  due 
from  him  as  master  of  the  house.  He  had  left  all  these  things 
to  Frank,  who  knew  so  much  better  how  to  entertain  young 
ladies  than  he  did ;  but  he  meant  to  do  better ;  and  his  eyes 
came  back  at  last  from  the  hflls  across  the  river,  and  rested  very 
kindly  on  her,  as  he  said  : 


LIFE  AT  MILLBANK.  12,3 

"  I  am  thinking,  Magda,  that  possibly  I  may  have  been 
remiss  in  my  attentions  to  you  since  my  return.  I  am  not  a 
lady's  man,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  term ;  but  I 
have  never  meant  to  neglect  you ;  and  when  I  have  seemed 
the  most  forgetful,  you  have  been,  perhaps,  the  most  in  my 
mind ;  and  the  coming  home  at  night  from  the  business  which 
nearly  drives  me  crazy,  has  been  very  pleasant  to  me,  because 
you  were  there  at  our  home  I  will  call  it,  for  it  is  as  much  yours 
as  mine,  and  I  want  you  to  consider  it  so.  It  is  hardly  prob 
able  that  I  shall  ever  marry.  I  have  lived  to  be  thirty-two 
without  finding  a  woman  whom  I  would  care  to  make  my  wife , 
and,  after  thirty,  one's  chances  of  matrimony  lessen.  But, 
whether  I  marry  or  not,  I  shall  provide  for  you,  as  well  as 
Frank,  who  should  perhaps  have  had  more  of  my  father's  prop 
erty.  His  mother  once  believed  there  was  another  will,  —  a 
later  one,  —  which  gave  him  Millbank,  and  disinherited  me ; 
but  that  is  all  passed  now." 

This  was  the  first  time  Magdalen  had  ever  heard  the  will 
matter  put  in  so  strong  a  light,  and,  springing  to  her  feet,  she 
exclaimed : 

"  Give  Millbank  to  Frank,  and  disinherit  you !  I  never 
heard  that  hinted  before,  i  understood  that  the  later  will 
merely  gave  more  to  Franknrhan  the  five  thousand  dollars.  I 
never  dreamed,  I  did  not  know — when  I  —  oh,  Mr.  Irving,  I 
have  been  such  a  monster  ! " 

She  was  ringing  her  hands,  in  her  distress  at  having  believed 
in  and  even  hunted  for  a  will  which  would  take  Millbank  from 
Roger,  who  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  and  asked  what  she 
meant. 

"  Have  you,  too,  heard  of  the  will  trouble  ;  who  told  you  ?  " 
he  asked.  And  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  which  with  a  quick 
nervous  motion  of  her  fingers  she  dashed  away,  Magdalen 
replied : 

"  Frank  told  me  first  years  ago,  and  his  mother  told  me 
again,  but  not  of  the  disinheritance.  She  said  the  will  was 
better  for  Frank,  and  I  —  oh,  Mr.  Irving,  forgive  me,  —  I  hunt- 


124  LIFE  AT  MILLBANK. 

ed  for  it  ever  so  much,  in  all  of  the  rooms,  and  in  the  garret, 
where  Hester  found  me,  and  seemed  so  angry,  that  I  remembei 
thinking  she  knew  something  about  it  if  there  was  one,  and  like 
a  silly,  curious  girl  I  said  to  myself,  I'll  keep  hunting  till  I  find 
it;  but  I  didn't.  Oh,  Mr.  Irving,  believe  me,  I  didn't!" 
"  Don't  look  at  me  so,  please,"  Magdalen  exclaimed  in  a  tremor 
of  distress  at  the  troubled,  sorry  look  in  Roger's  face,  —  a  look 
as  if  he  had  been  wounded  in  his  own  home  by  his  own  friends. 
"  I  might  have  hunted  more,  perhaps,"  Magdalen  went  on,  too 
truthful  to  keep  back  anything  which  concerned  herself;  "but 
so  much  happened,  and  I  went  away  to  school  and  forgot  all 
about  it.  Will  you  forgive  me  for  trying  to  turn  you  out  of 
doors."  She  was  kneeling  by  him  now  as  he  sat  upon  the 
bank,  and  her  hands  were  clasped  upon  his  arm,  while  her  tear 
ful  face  was  turned  imploringly  to  his. 

Unclasping  her  hands  from  his  arm,  and  keeping  them  be 
tween  his  own,  Roger  said  to  her  : 

"You  distress  yourself  unnecessarily  about  a  thing  which 
was  done  with  no  intention  to  injure  me.  I  know,  of  course, 
that  you  would  not  wish  me  to  give  up  the  home  I  love  so 
well ;  but,  Magdalen,  if  there  was  a  later  will  it  ought  to  be 
found,  and  restitution  made." 

"You  do  not  believe  there  was  such  a  will, — you  surely 
do  not,"  Magdalen  asked,  excitedly ;  and  Roger  replied  : 

"  No,  I  do  not.  If  I  did  I  would  move  heaven  and  earth  to 
find  it,  for  in  that  case  I  should  have  been  living  all  these 
years  on  what  belonged  to  others.  Don't  look  so  frightened, 
Magdalen,"  Roger  continued,  playfully  touching  her  cheek, 
which  had  grown  pale  at  the  mere  idea  of  his  being  obliged  to 
give  up  Millbank.  "  No  harm  should  come  to  you.  I  should 
take  care  of  my  little  girl.  I  would  work  with  my  hands  if 
necessary,  and  you  could  help  me.  How  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

It  was  rather  a  dangerous  situation  for  a  girl  like  Magdalen. 
Her  hands  were  imprisoned  by  Roger,  whose  eyes  rested  so 
kindly  upon  her  as  he  spoke  of  their  working  for  each  other 
and  asked  how  she  would  like  it. 


LIFE  AT  MILLBANK.  12$ 

Hou  would  she  like  if?  She  was  a  woman,  with  all  a 
woman's  impulses.  And  Roger  Irving  was  a  splendid-looking 
man,  with  something  very  winning  in  his  voice  and  manner, 
and  it  is  not  strange  if  at  that  moment  a  life  of  toil  with  Rogei 
looked  more  desirable  to  Magdalen  than  a  life  of  ease  at  Mill- 
bank  without  him. 

"  If  it  ever  chances  that  you  leave  Millbank,  I  will  gladlj 
work  like  a  slave  for  you,  to  atone,  if  possible,  for  my  meddle 
some  curiosity  in  trying  to  find  that  will,"  Magdalen  replied ; 
and  Roger  responded  : 

"  I  wish  you  to  find  it  if  there  is  one,  and  I  give  you  full 
permission  to  search  as  much  and  as  often  as  you  like.  You 
spoke  of  Hester's  having  come  upon  you  once  when  you  were 
looking  ;  where  were  you  then  ?  " 

"Up  in  the  garret,"  Magdalen  said.  "  There  are  piles  of 
rubbish  there,  and  an  old  barrel  of  papers.  I  was  tumbling 
them  over,  and  I  remember  now  that  Hester  said  something 
about  its  being  worse  for  me  if  the  will  was  found  ;  and  she 
was  very  cross  for  several  days,  and  very  rude  to  Mrs.  Irving, 
who,  she  said,  '  put  me  up.'  She  never  liked  Mrs.  Irving  much, 
although  latterly  she  has  treated  her  very  civilly." 

"  And  do  you  like  my  sister  Helen  ?  "  Roger  asked,  a  doubt 
beginning  to  cross  his  mind  as  to  the  propriety  of  carrying  out 
a  plan  which  had  recently  suggested  itself  to  him.  Mrs.  Wal 
ter  Scott,  who  never  did  anything  without  a  motive,  had  petted 
and  caressed  and  flattered  Magdalen  ever  since  she  had  fitted 
her  out  for  school,  and  served  herself  so  well  by  the  means. 
She  had  called  upon  her  twice  at  the  seminary,  had  written  her 
several  affectionate  letters,  and  it  was  natural  that  Magdalen, 
who  was  wholly  unsuspicious,  should  like  her ;  and  she  expressed 
her  liking  in  such  strong  terms,  that  Roger's  olden  feeling  of 
distrust,  —  if  it  could  be  called  by  so  harsh  a  name,  —  gave  way, 
and  he  spoke  of  what  his  sister  had  said  to  him  in  New  York 
with  regard  to  Magdalen  having  a  companion  or  chaperone  at 
Millbank. 

"  You  know,  perhaps,"  he  said,  "  that  the  world  has  estab- 


126  LIFE  AT  MILLS  ANK. 

lished  certain  codes  of  propriety,  one  of  which  says  that  a 
young  lady  like  you  should  not  live  alone  with  an  old  bachelor 
like  me.  I  don't  see  the  harm  myself,  but  sister  Helen  does, 
and  she  knows  what  is  proper,  of  course.  She  has  made  pro 
priety  the  business  of  her  life,  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that 
it  might  be  well  for  her  to  stay  at  Millbank  altogether,  —  that 
is,  if  it  would  please  you  to  have  her  here." 

Magdalen  felt  that  she  was  competent  to  take  care  of  her 
self,  but  if  she  must  have  a  companion  she  preferred  Mrs. 
Irving,  and  assented  readily  to  a  plan  which  had  originated 
wholly  in  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  fertile  brain,  and  to  the  accom 
plishment  of  which  all  her  energies  had  been  directed  for  the 
last  few  years. 

"  It  is  fortunate  that  she  is  here,"  Roger  said,  "  as  we  can 
talk  it  over  together  better  than  we  could  write  about  it.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  assist  Helen  in  that  way,  and  it  may  prove  a 
pleasant  arrangement  for  all  parties." 

They  were  walking  back  to  the  house  now,  across  the  pleas 
ant  fields  which  were  a  part  of  Roger's  inheritance,  and  if  in 
the  young  man's  heart  there  was  a  feeling  that  it  would  be  hard 
to  give  up  all  this,  it  was  but  the  natural  result  of  his  recent 
conversation  concerning  the  imaginary  will.  That  such  a  doc 
ument  existed,  he  did  not  believe,  however  ;  and  his  momentary 
disquiet  had  passed  before  he  reached  the  house,  which  looked 
so  cool  and  inviting  amid  the  dense  shade  of  the  maples  and  elms. 

"  Come  this  way,  Magdalen,"  Roger  said,  as  they  entered 
the  hall ;  and  Magdalen  went  with  him  into  the  music-room, 
starting  with  surprise,  and  uttering  an  exclamation  of  delight  as 
she  saw  a  beautiful  new  piano  in  place  of  the  old  rattling  instru 
ment  which  had  occupied  that  corner  in  the  morning. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  I  can  now  play  with  some  satisfaction 
to  myself  and  pleasure  to  others,"  she  said,  running  her  fingers 
rapidly  over  the  keys,  then  as  her  eye  fell  upon  the  silver  plate, 
with  her  name,  "  Magdalen  Lennox,"  engraved  upon  it,  she 
stopped  suddenly,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  once  as  she 
said  : 


LIFE  AT  MILLBANK.  12; 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Irving,  how  good  you  are  to  me  !  what  can  I  do 
to  show  that  I  appreciate  your  kindness  ?  " 

Roger  had  managed  to  have  the  piano  brought  to  the  house 
while  she  was  away,  intending  it  as  a  surprise,  and  he  enjoyed 
it  thoroughly,  and  thought  how  beautiful  she  was,  with  thost 
tear-drops  glittering  in  her  great  dark  eyes.  She  was  one,  of 
whom  any  parent  might  be  proud,  and  he  was  proud  of  her,  and 
called  himself  her  father,  and  tried  to  believe  that  he  felt  to 
ward  her  as  a  father  would  feel  toward  his  daughter ;  but 
somehow  that  little  episode  down  by  the  river,  when  she  had 
knelt  before  him,  with  her  hands  upon  his  arm,  and  her  flushed, 
eager  face  so  near  to  his,  had  stirred  a  new  set  of  feelings  in 
his  heart  and  made  him,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  averse  to 
being  addressed  by  her  as  "  Mr.  Irving."  And  when  she  asked 
him  what  she  could  do  to  show  how  glad  she  was,  he  said, 

"  I  know  you  are  glad,  —  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes,  and  I 
want  nothing  in  return,  unless,  indeed,  you  drop  the  formal 
title  of  Mr.  Irving,  and  give  me  the  more  familiar  one  of 
Roger.  Couldn't  you  do  that,  Magda?  " 

Magdalen  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  calling  the  clergy 
man  of  the  parish  by  his  first  name,  as  to  have  addressed  her 
guardian  as  Rogei,  —  and  she  shook  her  head  laughingly. 

"  No,  Mr.  Irving,  you  can  never  be  Roger  to  me,  —  it  would 
bring  you  too  much  on  a  level  with  Frank,  and  that  I  should 
not  like." 

Perhaps  Roger  was  not  altogether  displeased  with  her  answer, 
for  he  smiled  kindly  upon  her,  and  asked  if  he  would  have  to 
fall  very  far  to  reach  his  nephew's  level.  "  In  some  respects, 
yes,"  was  Magdalen's  reply,  as  she  commenced  a  brilliant  polka 
which  brought  Frank  himself  into  the  parlor,  followed  by  his 
mother,  who  kissed  Magdalen  lovingly,  and  then  stood  with 
both  her  hands  folded  on  the  young  girl's  shoulder  as  she  went 
on  playing  one  piece  after  another,  and  making  such  melody  as 
Dad  not  been  heard  since  the  days  when  Jessie  was  queen  of 
Millbank  and  played  in  the  twilight  for  her  gray-haired  hus 
band. 


128  LIFE  AT  MILLBANK 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  very  sociable  and  kind  and  conciliatory, 
and  lavish  of  her  praises  of  Millbank,  which  she  admired  so 
much,  saying  she  was  half  sorry  she  came,  as  it  would  be  so 
hard  to  go  back  to  her  close,  hot  rooms  in  New  York.  Then 
she  said  she  expected  to  have  her  house  on  her  hands  altogeth 
er,  as  her  tenants  were  intending  to  go  South  in  November,  and 
how  she  should  live  without  the  rent  she  did  not  know. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  suggest  something  which  will  meet  your 
approval,"  Roger  said ;  and  then  he  proceeded  to  speak  of  his 
plan  that  his  sister  should  stay  at  Millbank  with  Magdalen. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,  — • 
she  did  not  know  that  she  could  live  out  of  New  York,  — • 
and  nothing  but  her  love  for  Magdalen  and  her  desire  to 
serve  Roger,  who  had  done  so  much  for  Frank,  could  in 
duce  her  to  consider  the  proposition  for  a  moment.  This 
was  what  she  said ;  but  when  five  hundred  dollars  a  year 
was  added  to  her  fondness  for  Magdalen  and  her  desire 
to  serve  Roger,  she  consented  to  martyr  herself,  and  accepted 
the  situation  with  as  much  amiability  and  resignation  as  if 
it  had  not  been  the  very  object  for  which  she  had  been  striv 
ing  ever  since  her  first  visit  to  Charlestown,  when  she  foresaw 
what  Magdalen  would  be,  and  what  Roger  would  do  for  her. 
It  was  decided  that  Frank,  too,  should  remain  at  Millbank  as 
a  clerk  in  Roger's  office,  where  he  pretended  to  study  law,  and 
where,  after  his  writing  was  done,  he  spent  his  whole  time  in 
smoking  cigars  and  following  Magdalen,  who  sometimes  teased 
him  unmercifully,  and  then  drove  him  nearly  wild  with  her 
lively  sallies  and  bewitching  ways.  They  were  very  gay  at 
Millbank  that  autumn ;  and  in  the  sad  years  which  followed, 
Magdalen  often  looked  back  upon  that  time  as  the  happiest 
period  of  her  life. 

Roger  was  naturally  domestic  in  his  tastes,  and  would  at  any 
time  have  preferred  a  quiet  evening  at  home  with  his  family  to 
the  gayest  assemblage  ;  but  his  sister-in-law  made  him  believe 
that,  as  the  master  of  Millbank,  he  owed  a  great  deal  to  so 
ciety,  and  so  he  threw  open  his  doors  to  his  friends,  who  gladly 


LIFE  AT  MILLBANK,  I2g 

availed  themselves  of  anything  which  would  vary  the  monotony 
of  their  lives.  Always  bright  and  sparkling  and  brilliant,  Mag 
dalen  reigned  triumphant  as  the  belle  on  all  occasions.  She 
was  a  general  favorite,  and  as  the  autumn  advanced,  the  young 
maidens  of  Belvidere,  —  who  had  dreamed  that  to  be  mistress 
of  Millbank  might  be  an  honor  in  store  for  one  of  them,  —  be 
gan  to  notice  the  soft,  tender  look  in  Roger's  eyes  as  they  fol 
lowed  Magdalen's  movements,  whether  in  the  merry  dance,  of 
which  she  never  tired,  or  at  the  piano,  where  she  excelled  all 
others  in  the  freshness  of  her  voice  and  the  brilliancy  of  her 
execution.  Frank,  too,  with  his  gentlemanly  manners  and 
foreign  air,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  with  her  city  style  and  ele 
gance,  added  to  the  attractions  at  Millbank,  where  everything 
wore  so  bright  a  hue,  with  no  shadow  to  foretell  the  dark  storm 
which  was  coming.  The  will  seemed  to  be  entirely  forgotten, 
though  Roger  dreamed  once  that  it  had  been  found,  —  and  by 
Magdalen,  too,  —  and  that,  with  an  aching  heart,  he  read  that 
he  was  a  beggar,  made  so  by  his  father,  and  that  he  had  gone 
out  from  his  beautiful  home  penniless,  but  not  alone,  or  utterly 
hopeless,  for  Magdalen  was  with  him,  — her  dark  eyes  beamed 
upon  him,  and  her  hands  ministered  to  him  just  as  she  had 
said  they  would,  should  he  ever  come  to  what  he  had. 

Roger  was  glad  this  was  only  a  dream,  — glad  to  awake 
in  his  own  pleasant  chamber  and  hear  the  robins  sing  in  the 
maple-tree  outside,  and  see  from  his  window  the  scarlet  tints 
with  which  the  autumnal  frosts  were  beginning  to  touch  the 
maples.  He  was  strongly  attached  to  his  beautiful  home,  and 
to  lose  it  now  would  be  a  bicter  trial. 

But  he  had  no  expectation  of  losing  it.  It  belonged  to  him 
without  a  question,  and  all  through  the  autumn  months  he  went 
on  beautifying  and  improving  it,  and  studying  constantly  some 
new  surprise  which  would  add  to  the  happiness  of  those  he  had 
gathered  around  him,  and  whose  comfort  he  held  far  above  his 
own.  Wholly  unselfish,  and  liberal  almost  to  a  fault,  he  spent 
his  money  freely,  not  only  for  those  of  his  own  household,  but 
for  tl'e  poor,  who  had  known  and  loved  him  when  a  boy,  and 
6* 


130  LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILLBANK. 

who  now  idolized  and  honored  him  as  a  man,  and  blessed  the 
cby  which  had  brought  him  back  to  their  midst,  —  the  kind  and 
considerate  employer  of  many  of  them,  —  the  friend  of  the  des 
titute  and  needy,  —  the  cultivated  gentleman  in  society,  and  the 
courteous  master  of  Millbank. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

LOVE-MAKING  AT   MILLBANK. 

HE  holidays  were  over.  They  had  been  spent  in  New 
York,  where,  with  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  as  her  chaperone, 
Magdalen  had  passed  a  few  weeks,  and  seen  what  was 
meant  by  fashionable  society.  But  she  did  not  like  it,  and  was 
glad  to  return  to  Millbank. 

Roger  had  spent  only  a  few  days  with  her  in  New  York,  but 
Frank  had  been  her  constant  attendant,  and  not  a  little  proud 
of  the  beautiful  girl  who  attracted  so  much  attention.  While 
there  Magdalen  had  more  than  once  heard  mention  made  of 
Alice  Grey,  who  had  returned  to  America  and  was  spending  a 
few  weeks  in  New  York,  where  she  would  have  been  a  belle 
but  for  her  poor  health,  which  prevented  her  from  mingling 
much  in  fashionable  society.  Frank  had  called  on  her  several 
times,  and  occasionally  she  heard  him  rallied  upon  his  pen 
chant  for  Miss  Grey  by  some  one  of  his  friends,  who  knew 
them  both.  Frank  would  have  denied  the  charge  openly  had 
Magdalen's  manner  towards  him  been  different  from  what  it 
was.  She  called  him  her  brother,  and  by  always  treating  him 
as  such,  made  anything  like  love-making  on  his  part  almost 
impossible  ;  and  so  Frank  thought  to  rouse  her  jealousy  by  al 
lowing  her  to  believe  that  there  was  something  serious  between 
himself  and  Alice  Grey.  But  in  this  he  was  mistaken.  The 
charm  he  had  once  possessed  for  Magdalen,  when,  as  a  child, 


LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILLBANK.  131 

she  enshrined  him  her  hero  and  lived  upon  his  smiles,  was 
broken,  and  though  she  liked  him  greatly  and  showed  that  she 
did  so,  she  knew  that  any  stronger  feeling  towards  him  was  ut 
terly  impossible,  and  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  his  trans- 
ferring  to  another  some  of  the  attentions  which  were  becoming 
distasteful  to  her,  from  the  fact  of  their  being  so  very  marked 
and  lover-like. 

Once  she  spoke  to  him  herself  of  Alice,  who  was  stopping  at 
the  St.  Denis,  and  asked,  "  Why  do  you  not  bring  her  to  see 
me  or  let  me  go  to  her  ?  "  and  Frank  had  answered  her,  "  Miss 
Grey  is  too  much  of  an  invalid  to  make  or  receive  calls  from 
strangers.  She  asks  after  you  with  a  great  deal  of  interest,  and 
hopes  — : 

Frank  hesitated  a  moment,  and  Magdalen  playfully  caught 
him  up,  saying, —  "  Hopes  to  know  me  well  through  you.  Is 
that  it,  and  is  what  I  have  heard  about  you  true  ?  I  am  so 
glad,  for  I  know  I  shall  like  her,  though  I  used  to  be  jealous  of 
her  years  ago  when  you  talked  so  much  of  her." 

Magdalen  was  very  sincere  in  what  she  said,  but  foolish 
Frank,  who  set  a  far  greater  value  upon  himself  than  others  set 
upon  him,  and  who  could  not  understand  how  any  girl  could 
be  indifferent  to  him,  was  conceited  enough  to  fancy  that  he 
detected  something  like  pique  in  Magdalen's  manner,  and  that 
she  was  not  as  much  delighted  with  Alice  Grey  as  she  would 
like  him  to  think.  This  suited  him,  and  so  he  made  no  reply, 
except,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  pleased  with  her.  She  is  worthy 
of  your  love." 

And  thus  was  the  conviction  strengthened  in  Magdalen's 
mind  that  she  might  some  day  know  Alice  Grey  intimately  as 
the  wife  of  Frank,  towards  whom  she  showed  at  once  a  greater 
decree  of  familiarity  than  she  had  done  hitherto,  making  him 
think  his  ruse  a  successful  one,  which  would  in  due  time  bear 
the  desired  fruit.  Meanwhile  his  mother  had  her  own  darling 
scheme,  which  she  was  adroitly  managing  to  carry  out.  Once 
she  would  have  spurned  the  thought  of  accepting  Magdalen  as 
her  daughter-in-law,  but  she  had  changed  her  mind  after  a  con- 


132  LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILLBANK. 

versation  with  Roger,  who,  wholly  deceived  by  the  crafty,  fas 
cinating  woman,  had  grown  very  confidential,  and  been  led  on 
to  admit  that  in  case  he  never  married,  or  even  if  he  did,  Mag 
dalen  would  stand  to  him  in  the  relation  of  a  child,  and  share 
in  his  property.  Indeed,  from  his  conversation  it  would  seem 
that,  feeling  impressed  with  the  uncertainty  of  life,  and  having 
no  foolish  prejudices  against  making  his  will,  he  had  already 
done  so,  and  provided  for  both  Magdalen  and  Frank. 

He  did  not  state  what  provision  he  had  made  for  them,  and  his 
sister  did  not  ask  him.  She  preferred  to  find  out  in  some  other 
way,  if  possible,  and  not  betray  the  interest  she  felt  in  the  mat 
ter.  So  she  merely  thanked  him  for  remembering  Frank,  for 
whom  he  had  done  so  much,  and  then  at  once  changed  the 
conversation.  She  did  not  seem  at  all  curious,  and  Roger,  who 
liked  her  now  much  better  than  when  he  was  a  boy,  never 
dreamed  how  the  next  day,  while  he  was  in  his  office  and  Mag 
dalen  was  away  on  some  errand  for  old  Hester,  the  writing-desk, 
which  still  stood  in  the  library,  was  visited  by  Mrs.  Walter  Scott, 
who  knew  that  some  of  his  papers  were  kept  there,  and  whose 
curiosity  was  rewarded  by  a  sight  of  the  desired  document. 
It  was  not  sealed,  and  with  a  timid  glance  at  the  door  she 
opened  it  nervously,  but  dared  not  stop  to  read  the  whole  lest 
some  one  should  surprise  her.  Rapidly  her  eye  ran  over  the 
paper  till  it  caught  the  name  of  Magdalen,  coupled  with  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  That  was  to  be  her  marriage  por 
tion,  paid  on  her  bridal  day,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  about 
to  read  further  when  the  sound  of  a  footstep  warned  her  that 
some  one  was  coming.  To  put  the  paper  back  in  its  place  was 
the  work  of  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  most  innocent  look  on 
her  face  the  lady  turned  to  meet  old  Hester  Floyd,  whose  gray 
eyes  looked  sharply  at  her,  and  who  merely  nodded  in  reply  to 
her  words  of  explanation, — 

"  I  am  looking  at  this  silver  plate  over  the  doors  of  the  writ 
ing-desk.  How  it  is  tarnished !  One  can  scarcely  make  out 
the  squire's  name.  I  wish  you'd  set  Ruth  to  polishing  it." 

The  plate  was  polished  within  fifteen  minutes  by  Hester 


LOVE-BAKING  AT  MILLBANK.  133 

herself,  who  had  caught  the  rustle  of  papers  and  the  quick 
shutting  of  the  drawer.  She  knew  the  tarnished  plate  was  a 
pretence,  and  stood  guard  till  Roger  came.  He  merely  laughed 
at  her  suspicions,  but  when  a  few  days  after  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
found  an  opportunity  to  try  the  drawer  again,  she  found  it 
locked,  and  all  her  hopes  of  ascertaining  how  Frank  fared  in 
the  will  were  effectually  cut  off.  But  she  knew  about  Magda 
len.  One  hundred  thousand  dollars  as  a  marriage  portion  was 
worth  considering,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  consider  it,  and 
it  outweighed  any  scruples  she  might  otherwise  have  had  con 
cerning  Magdalen's  birth,  and  made  her  doubly  gracious  to  the 
young  girl  whom  she  sought  as  her  future  daughter-in-law. 

That  was  just  before  they  went  to  New  York,  where  the 
favor  with  which  Magdalen  was  received  confirmed  her  in  her 
intentions  to  win  the  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Every  oppor 
tunity  for  throwing  the  young  people  together  was  seized  upon, 
and  if  by  chance  she  heard  the  name  of  Alice  Grey  coupled 
with  her  son's,  she  smiled  incredulously,  and  said  it  was  a  most 
absurd  idea  that  Frank  should  wish  to  marry  into  a  family 
where  there  was  hereditary  insanity,  as  she  knew  was  the  case 
in  Miss  Grey's. 

After  their  return  to  Millbank  she  resolved  to  push  matters 
a  little,  and  so  one  afternoon,  when  she  chanced  to  be  walking 
with  Frank  from  the  office  to  the  house,  she  broached  the  sub 
ject  by  asking  how  long  he  intended  to  let  matters  go  on  as 
they  were  going,  and  why  he  did  not  at  once  propose  to  Mag 
dalen,  and  not  keep  her  in  suspense  ! 

"  Suspense  !  mother ;  "  and  Frank  looked  up  joyfully.  "  Do 
you  think,  —  do  you  believe  Magdalen  really  cares  for  me  ? 
I  have  been  afraid  it  was  only  a  sisterly  regard,  such  as  she 
would  feel  for  me  were  I  really  her  brother." 

"She  must  be  a  strange  gin.  to  conduct  herself  towards  you 
as  she  does  and  not  seriously  care  for  you,"  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
replied;  and  Frank  continued,  "She  has  been  different  pince 
we  came  from  New  York,  I  know,  and  has  not  kept  me  quite 
so  much  at  arm's-length.  Mother,"  and  Frank  spoke  more 


134  LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILLBANK. 

energetically  than  before,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have  broken 
the  ice  ;  so  glad  you  like  her  and  are  willing.  I  did  not  know 
but  you  might  object,  you  are  so  straight-laced  about  blood  and 
birth  and  all  that." 

"  I  am  a  little  particular  about  such  things,  I'll  admit,"  Mrs. 
Irving  replied;  "  but  in  Magdalen's  case  I  am  ready  to  make 
an  exception.  She  is  a  splendid  girl  and  created  a  great  sen 
sation  in  New  York ;  while  better  than  all,  she  is,  or  will  be,  an 
heiress.  Roger  has  made  his  will,  and  on  her  bridal  day  she  is 
to  have  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  dowry." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Frank  asked  quickly,  and  his 
mother  replied  :  "  No  matter  how.  It  is  sufficient  that  I  do 
know  it,  and  with  poverty  staring  us  in  the  face  the  sooner  you 
appropriate  that  hundred  thousand  the  better  for  both  of  us." 

"  Mother,"  and  Frank  spoke  sternly,  "  I  wonder  what  you 
take  me  for  !  A  mere  mercenary  wretch  ?  Understand  plainly 
that  I  am  not  so  base  as  that,  and  I  love  Magdalen  well  enough 
to  marry  her  if  she  was  never  to  have  a  penny  in  the  world. 
Much  as  I  hate  work  I  could  work  for  her,  and  a  life  of  poverty 
shared  with  her  has  more  attractions  for  me  than  all  the  king 
doms  in  the  world  shared  with  another." 

They  had  reached  Millbank  by  this  time,  and  Magdalen  met 
them  at  the  door.  She  had  been  out  for  a  drive,  and  the  ex 
ercise  and  clear  wintry  air  had  brought  a  deeper  glow  than 
usual  to  her  cheeks  and  made  her  eyes  like  diamonds.  She 
had  never  been  more  beautiful  to  Frank  than  she  was  that 
evening  in  her  soft  crimson  dress,  with  her  hair  arranged  in 
long  curls,  which  fell  about  her  face  and  neck  in  such  profusion. 
Magdalen  did  not  often  curl  her  hair ;  it  was  too  much  trouble, 
she  said,  and  she  had  only  done  so  to-day  because  of  some 
thing  which  Roger  had  said  to  her.  He  had  been  standing 
with  her  before  the  picture  of  his  mother,  whose  golden  hair 
Covered  her  like  a  veil,  and  to  Magdalen,  who  admired  the 
flowing  tresses,  he  had  said,  "Why  don't  you  wear  curls, 
Magda  ?  I  like  so  much  to  see  them  when  I  know  they  are 
as  natural  as  yours  would  be." 


LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILL  BANK.  135 

Thai  afternoon  Magdalen  had  taken  more  than  usual  pains 
with  her  toilet,  and  Celine,  the  French  maid,  whom  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  had  introduced  into  the  house,  had  gone  into 
ecstasies  over  the  long,  beautiful  curls  which  fell  almost  to 
Magdalen's  waist  and  somewhat  softened  her  dashing  style  of 
beauty.  Roger,  too,  had  complimented  her,  when  about  four 
o'clock  he  came  in,  saying  he  was  going  to  drive  out  a  mile  or 
two  from  Millbank,  and  asking  her  to  accompany  him.  The 
day  was  very  cold,  and  with  careful  forethought  he  had  seen 
that  she  was  warmly  clad,  —  had  himself  put  the  hot  soap-stone 
to  her  feet,  and  wrapping  the  fur  robes  around  herj  had  looked 
into  her  bright  face  and  starry  eyes,  and  asked  if  she  was  com 
fortable.  On  their  return  to  Millbank,  he  had  carefully  lifted 
her  from  the  sleigh  and  carried  her  up  the  steps  into  the  hall, 
where  he  set  her  down,  calling  her  Mother  Bunch,  with  all 
her  wraps  around  her,  and  trying  to  help  her  remove  them. 
Roger  was  a  little  awkward  in  anything  pertaining  to  a  woman's 
gear,  but  he  managed  to  unpin  the  shawl  and  untie  the  ribbons 
of  the  % pretty,  coquettish  rigolette,  which  were  in  a  knot 
and  troubled  him  somewhat,  bringing  his  face  so  close  to  Mag 
dalen's  that  her  curls  fell  across  his  shoulder  and  he  felt  her 
breath  upon  his  cheek. 

"  Your  ride  has  done  you  good,  Magda.  You  are  looking 
charmingly,"  he  said,  when  at  last  she  was  undone  and  stood 
before  the  fire.  He  was  obliged  to  go  out  again,  and  as  it  was 
not  likely  he  should  return  till  late,  they  were  not  to  wait 
dinner  for  him,  — he  said. 

Something  in  his  manner  toward  her  more  than  his  words 
had  affected  Magdalen  with  a  sweet  sense  of  happiness,  and 
her  face  was  radiant  as  she  met  Frank  in  the  hall,  and  went 
with  him  to  the  dining-room,  where  dinner  was  waiting  for 
ihem.  She  explained  that  Roger  would  not  be  there,  and  then, 
as  Frank  took  the  head  of  the  table,  rallied  him  upon  his 
awkwardness  in  carving  and  his  absent-mindedness  in  general. 
He  had  a  bad  headache,  he  said,  and  after  dinner  was  over  and 
they  had  adjourned  to  the  library,  where  their  evenings  wera 


13^  LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILL  BANK. 

usually  passed,  he  lay  down  upon  the  couch  and  looked  so 
pale  and  tired,  that  Magdalen's  sympathy  was  awakened  at 
once,  and  she  insisted  upon  doing  something  for  him.  Since 
their  return  from  New  York  she  had  been  far  more  familiar  in 
her  intercourse  with  him  than  she  would  have  been  had  she 
not  believed  there  was  something  between  him  and  Alice  Grey 
which  might  ripen  into  love.  With  no  fears  for  herself,  she 
could  afford  to  be  very  gracious,  and  being  naturally  something 
of  a  coquette,  she  had  tormented  and  teased  poor  Frank  until 
he  had  some  reason  for  believing  that  his  affection  for  her  was 
returned,  and  that  his  suit  would  not  be  disregarded  should  he 
ever  urge  it  upon  her.  With  the  remembrance  of  Roger's 
words  and  manner  thrilling  every  nerve,  she  was  in  an  un 
usually  soft,  amiable  rnood  to-night,  and  knelt  at  last  by  Frank's 
side  and  offered  to  bathe  his  aching  head. 

"  The  girls  at  school  used  to  tell  me  there  was  some  mesmer 
ism  in  my  fingers,"  she  said,  "  some  power  to  drive  away  pain 
or  exorcise  evil  spirits.  Let  me  try  their  effect  on  you." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  had  been  watching  the  progress  of 
matters,  found  it  convenient  just  then  to  leave  the  room,  and 
Frank  was  alone  with  Magdalen.  For  a  few  moments  her 
white  fingers  threaded  his  hair,  brushing  it  back  from  his  fore 
head  and  passing  lightly  over  his  throbbing  temples  until  it  was 
not  in  human  nature  to  endure  any  longer,  and  rising  sud 
denly  from  his  reclining  position,  Frank  clasped  his  arms  around 
her,  and  straining  her  to  his  bosom,  pressed  kiss  after  kiss  upon 
her  lips,  while  he  poured  into  her  astonished  ear  the  story  of 
his  love,  telling  her  how  long  ago  it  began,  —  telling  her  how 
dear  she  was  to  him,  —  how  for  her  sake  he  had  lingered  at 
Millbank  trying  to  do  something  for  himself,  because  she  had 
once  suggested  that  such  a  thing  would  be  gratifying  to  her,  — 
how  thoughts  of  her  were  constantly  in  his  mind,  whether  awake 
or  asleep,  and  lastly,  that  his  mother  approved  his  choice  and 
would  gladly  welcome  her  as  a  daughter. 

As  he  talked,  Magdalen  had  struggled  to  her  feet,  her  cheeks 
burning  with  surprise  and  mortification,  and  sorrow  too,  that 


LOVE-MAKING  AT  MILLBANK.  137 

Frank  should  have  misjudged  her  so.  She  knew  he  «vas  in 
earnest,  and  she  pitied  him  so  much,  knowing  as  she  did  horf 
hopeless  was  his  suit. 

"Speak  to  me,"  he  said  at  last,  "  if  it  is  only  to  tell  me  no. 
Anything  is  better  than  your  silence.'' 

"Oh,  Frank,"  Magdalen  began,  "I  am  so  sorry,  because — " 

"  Don't  tell  me  no.  I  will  not  listen  to  that  answer,"  Frank 
burst  out  impetuously,  forgetting  what  he  had  just  said  when  he 
begged  her  to  speak.  "  You  do  like  me,  or  you  have  seemed 
to,  and  have  given  me  some  encouragement,  or  I  should  not 
have  told  you  what  I  have.  Don't  you  like  me,  Magdalen  ?" 

"Yes,  very  much,  but  not  the  way  you  mean.  I  do  not  like 
you  well  enough  to  take  you  for  my  husband.  And,  Frai}k, 
what  of  Alice  Grey?  You  say  I  have  encouraged  you,  and 
perhaps  I  have.  I'll  admit  that  since  I  thought  you  loved  Miss 
Grey,  I  have  been  less  guarded  in  my  manner  towards  you ; 
but  I  never  meant  to  mislead  you,  —  never.  I  felt  towards 
you  as  a  sister  might  feel  towards  a  brother,  —  nothing  more. 
But  you  do  not  tell  me  about  Miss  Grey.  Are  you,  then, 
so  fickle  ?  " 

'  "  Magdalen,"  Frank  said>  "  I  may  as  well  be  truthful  with  you 
now  ;  that  was  all  a  ruse,  —  done  for  the  sake  of  piquing  you 
and  rousing  your  jealousy.  I  did  care  for  Alice  when  she  was 
a  young  girl  and  I  in  college  at  New  Haven,  and  when  I  met 
her  again  abroad,  and  found  her  the  same  sweet,  lovely  creature, 
I  don't  know  what  I  might  have  done  but  for  her  father,  who 
seemed  to  dislike  me,  and  always  imposed  some  obstacle  to  my 
seeing  her  alone,  until  at  last  he  took  her  away  and  I  saw  her 
no  more,  until  I  met  her  in  New  York,  and  had  learned  to  love 
you  far  more  than  I  ever  loved  Alice  Grey." 
"  "And  so  to  win  me  you  stooped  to  play  with  the  affections 
of  another.  A  very  manly  thing  to  do,"  Magdalen  rejoined, 
in  a  tone  of  bitter  scorn,  which  made  poor  Frank's  blood  tingle 
as  he  tried  to  stammer  out  his  excuses. 

"It  was  not  a  manly  act,  I  know ;  but,  Magdalen,  so  far  as 
Alice  was  concerned,  it  did  no  harm.  I  know  she  does  not  care 


138  THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET. 

for  me  now,  if  she  ever  did.  Our  intercourse  was  merely 
friendly,  —  nothing  more;  and  I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  she 
would  feel  one  heart-throb  were  she  to  hear  to-day  of  my  mar 
riage  with  another.  Forgive  me,  Magdalen,  if  in  my  love  for 
you  I  resorted  to  duplicity,  and  tell  me  that  you  can  love  me 
in  time,  —  that  you  will  try  to  do  so.  Will  you,  Magdalen  ?  " 

"  No.  Frank.  I  can  never  be  your  wife ;  never.  Don't 
mention  it  again  ;  don't  think  of  it  again,  for  it  cannot  be." 

This  was  Magdalen's  reply,  which  Frank  felt  was  final.  She 
was  leaving  the  room,  and  he  let  her  go  without  another  word. 
He  had  lost  her,  and  throwing  himself  upon  the  couch,  he 
pressed  his  hands  together  upon  his  aching  head,  and  groaned 
aloud  with  pain  and  bitter  disappointment. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE   LOOSE   BOARD    IN  THE    GARRET. 

ESTER  FLOYD  was  sick.  Exposure  to  a  heavy  rain 
had  brought  on  an  attack  of  fever,  which  confined  her 
to  her  bed,  where  she  lay  helpless  and  cross,  and  some 
times  delirious.  She  would  have  no  one  with  her  but  Magda 
len.  Every  other  person  made  her  nervous,  she  said.  Magda 
len's  hands  were  soft ;  Magdalen's  step  was  light ;  Magdalen 
knew  what  to  do  ;  and  so  Magdalen  stayed  by  her  constantly, 
glad  of  an  excuse  to  keep  away  from  Frank,  with  whom  she  had 
held  but  little  intercourse  since  that  night  in  the  library,  which 
she  remembered  with  so  much  regret.  Hester's  illness  she 
looked  upon  as  a  godsend,  and  stayed  all  day  by  the  fretful  old 
woman's  bedside,  only  leaving  the  room  at  meal  time,  or  to 
make  a  feint  of  watching  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  for  whom  Hester 
evinced  a  strong  dislike  or  dread. 

"  Snoopin',  pryin'  thing,"  she  said  to  Magdalen.     "  She'll 
be  up  to  all  sorts  of  capers  now  that  I'm  laid  up  and  can't  head 


THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET.  139 

her  off.  I've  found  her  there  more  than  once  ;  I  knew  what  she 
was  after,  and  took  it  away,  and  then  like  a  fool  lugged  it  back 
again,  and  it's  there  now,  and  you  must  get  it,  and  put  it — put 
it  —  oh,  for  the  dear  Lord's  sake  what  nonsense  be  I  talkin'. 
What  was  I  sayin',  Magdalen  ?  " 

Hester  came  to  herself  with  a  start,  and  stared  wildly  at  Mag. 
dalen,  who  was  bending  over  her,  wondering  what  she  meant, 
and  what  it  was  which  she  must  bring  from  the  garret  and  hide. 
Whatever  it  was,  it  troubled  Hester  Floyd  greatly,  and  when 
she  was  delirious,  as  was  often  the  case,  she  was  sure  to  talk  of 
it,  and  beg  of  Magdalen  to  get  it,  and  put  it  beyond  the  reach 
of  Mrs.  Walter  Scott. 

"  How  am  I  to  get  it  when  I  don't  know  what  it  is  nor  where 
it  is,"  Magdalen  said  to  her  one  night  when  she  sat  watching  by 
her,  and  Hester  had  insisted  that  she  should  go  to  the  garret, 
and  "  head  off  that  woman!  She's  there,  and  by  and  by  she'll 
find  that  loose  board  in  the  floor  under  the  rafters  where  I 
bumped  my  head  so  hard.  Go,  Magdalen,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
if  yoa  care  for  Roger" 

Magdalen's  face  was  very  white  now,  and  her  eyes  like  burn 
ing  coals  as  she  questioned  Hester.  At  the  mention  of  Roger 
a  sudden  suspicion  had  Hashed  upon  her,  making  her  grow 
faint  and  cold  as  she  grasped  the  high  post  of  the  bedstead  and 
asked,  "  How  she  could  get  it  when  she  did  not  know  what  it 
was,  nor  where  it  was." 

The  sound  of  her  voice  roused  the  old  woman  a  little,  but 
she  soon  relapsed  into  her  dreamy,  talkative  mood,  and  insisted 
that  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  in  the  garret  and  Magdalen  must 
"head  her  off." 

"  I'll  go,"  Magdalen  said  at  last,  taking  the  candle  which 
Hester  always  used  for  going  about  the  house.  "  Hush  !  "  she 
continued,  as  Hester  began  to  grow  very  restless  ;  "  I'm  going 
to  the  garret.  Be  quiet  till  I  come  back." 

"  I  will,  yes,"  was  Hester's  reply,  her  eyes  wide  open  now, 
and  staring  wildly  at  Magdalen,  whose  dress  she  tried  to  clutch 
with  her  hand  as  she  whispered,  "The  loose  board,  way  down 


I4O  THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE   GARRET. 

under  the  eaves.  You  must  get  on  your  knees.  Bring  it  to 
me,  and  never  tell." 

The  house  was  very  quiet,  for  the  family  had  long  since  re 
tired,  and  the  pale  spring  moonlight  came  struggling  through 
the  windows,  and  lighting  up  the  halls  through  which  Magdalen 
went  on  her  strange  errand  to  the  garret.  The  stairs  which 
led  to  it  were  away  from  the  main  portion  of  the  building,  and 
she  felt  a  thrill  of  something  like  fear  as  she  passed  into  the 
dark,  narrow  hall,  and  paused  a  moment  by  the  door  of  the 
stairway.  What  should  she  find,  —  was  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  there, 
as  Hester  had  averred ;  and  if  so,  what  was  she  doing,  and  what 
excuse  could  Magdalen  make  for  being  there  herself? 

"  I'll  wait,  and  let  matters  take  their  course,"  she  thought ; 
and  then  summoning  all  her  courage,  she  opened  the  door,  and 
began  the  ascent  of  the  steep  narrow  way,  every  stair  of  which 
creaked  with  her  tread,  for  Magdalen  did  not  try  to  be  cautious. 
"  If  any  one  is  there,  they  shall  know  I  am  coming,"  she  thought ; 
and  she  held  her  candle  high  above  her  head,  so  that  its  light 
might  shine  to  the  farthest  crevice  of  the  garret  and  give  warn 
ing  of  her  approach. 

But  there  was  no  one  there,  and  only  the  accumulated  rub 
bish  of  the  house  met  her  view,  as  she  came  fully  into  the  gar 
ret  and  cast  her  eyes  from  corner  to  corner  and  beam  to  beaiv . 
Through  the  dingy  window  at  the  north  the  moon  was  look'.ng 
in,  and  lighting  up  that  end  of  the  garret  with  a  weird,  gkjstly 
kind  of  light,  which  made  Magdalen  shiver  more  than  utter 
darkness  would  have  done.  She  knew  she  was  alone ;  there 
was  no  sign  of  life  around  her,  except  the  huge  rat,  which, 
frightened  at  this  unlooked-for  visitation,  sprang  from  Magdalen 
knew  not  where,  and  running  past  her  disappeared  in  a  hole 
low  down  under  the  eaves,  reminding  Magdalen  of  what  Hes 
ter  had  said  of  "  the  loose  plank  under  the  rafters  where  you 
have  to  stoop." 

At  sight  of  the  rat  Magdalen  had  uttered  a  cry,  which  she 
quickly  suppressed,  and  then  stood  watching  the  frightened  ani 
mal,  until  it  disappeared  from  sight. 


THE    LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET.       '    141 

"  There  can  be  no  harm  in  seeing  if  there  is  a  loose  board 
there,"  Magdalen  thought ;  and  setting  her  candle  upon  a  little 
table  she  groped  her  way  after  the  rat,  bumping  her  head  once 
as  old  Hester  had  bumped  hers  ;  and  then  crouching  down 
upon  her  knees,  she  examined  the  floor  in  that  part  of  the  gar 
ret,  growing  faint  and  cold  and  frightened  when  she  found  that 
far  back  under  the  roof  there  was  a  board,  shorter  than  the 
others,  which  looked  as  if  it  might  with  a  little  trouble  be  lifted 
from  its  place. 

It  fitted  perfectly,  and,  but  for  what  old  Hester  had  said, 
might  never  have  been  discovered  to  be  loose  and  capable  of 
being  moved  from  its  position.  Magdalen  was  not  quite  sure, 
even  now,  that  she  could  raise  it,  and  if  she  could,  did  she 
wish  to,  and  for  what  reason  ?  Was  there  anything  hidden 
under  it,  and  if  so,  was  it  —  ?  " 

Magdalen  did  not  dare  repeat  the  last  word  even  to  herself, 
and,  as  she  thought  it,  there  came  rushing  over  her  a  feeling 
as  if  she  were  already  guilty  of  making  Roger  Irving  a  beggar. 

"  No,  no,  I  can't  do  that.  If  there  is  anything  under  there, 
—  which  I  do  not  believe,  — it  may  remain  there  for  all  of  me," 
she  said  ;  and  her  face  was  very  pale  as  she  drew  back  from  be 
neath  the  roof,  and  took  the  candle  in  her  hand. 

The  moon  had  passed  under  a  cloud,  leaving  the  garret  in 
darkness,  and  Magdalen  heard  the  rising  wind  sweeping  past 
the  windows  as  she  went  down  the  stairs  and  out  again  into  the 
hall,  where  she  breathed  more  freely,  and  felt  less  as  if  there 
were  a  nightmare's  spell  upon  her.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  door 
stood  ajar,  just  as  it  had  done  when  Magdalen  passed  it  on  her 
way  to  the  garret,  and,  impelled  by  a  feeling  she  could  not  re 
sist,  she  looked  cautiously  in.  The  lady  was  sleeping  soundly, 
with  her  hair  in  the  hideous  curl  papers,  and  her  white  hands 
resting  peacefully  outside  the  counterpane.  She  had  not 
been  near  the  garret.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  loose  plank 
under  the  roof,  and  with  a  feeling  that  injustice  had  been  done 
to  the  sleeper,  Magdalen  passed  on  toward  Hester's  room,  her 
heart  beating  rapidly  and  the  blood  rushing  in  torrents  to  hex 


142  THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET. 

face  and  neck  as  she  heard  Hester's  sharp,  querulous  tones 
mingled  with  another  voice  which  seemed  trying  to  quiet  her. 
It  was  a  man's  voice, —  Roger's  voice, —  and  Roger  himself  was 
bending  over  the  restless  woman  and  telling  her  that  Magdalen 
would  soon  be  back,  and  that  nobody  was  going  to  harm  him. 

"  Here  she  is  now,"  he  continued,  as  Magdalen  glided  into 
the  room,  looking  like  some  ghost,  for  the  blood  which  had 
crimsoned  her  face  a  moment  before  had  receded  from  it,  leav 
ing  it  white  as  marble,  and  making  her  dark  eyes  seem  larger 
and  brighter  and  blacker  than  their  wont.  "  Why,  Magda," 
Roger  exclaimed,  coming  quickly  to  her  side,  "  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Have  you,  too,  been  hearing  burglars  ?  " ' 

"Burglars  !  "  Magdalen  repeated,  trying  to  smile  as  she  put 
her  candle  upon  the  table  and  hastened  to  Hester,  who  was 
sitting  up  in  bed,  and  who  demanded  of  her,  "  Did  you  find  it? 
Was  she  there  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  There  was  nobody  there,"  Magdalen  said,  sooth 
ingly  ;  and  then  as  Hester  became  quiet,  and  seemed  falling 
away  to  sleep  as  suddenly  as  she  sometimes  awoke,  Magdalen 
turned  to  Roger,  who  was  looking  curiously  at  her,  and  as  she 
fancied  with  a  troubled  expression  on  his  face.  "  You  spoke 
of  burglars.  What  did  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied,  laughingly.  "  Only  I  have  been 
restless  all  night,  —  too  strong  coffee  for  dinner,  I  dare  say. 
Suppose  you  see  to  it  yourself  to-morrow.  I  remember  a  cup 
you  made  me  once,  and  I  never  tasted  better." 

"  Yes ;  but  what  of  the  burglars,  and  why  are  you  up  ?  " 
Magdalen  continued. 

She  knew  there  was  some  reason  for  Roger's  being  there  at 
that  hour  of  the  night,  and  she  wished  to  get  at  it. 

"  I  could  not  sleep,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  thought  I  heard 
some  one  about  the  house.  The  post-office  was  entered  last 
week,  and  as  it  would  not  be  a  very  improbable  thing  for  the 
robbers  to  come  here,  I  dressed,  and  fearing  that  you  might  be 
alarmed  at  any  unusual  sound  about  the  house,  I  came  directly 
here,  and  learned  from  Hester  that  you  were  rummaging,  — • 


THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET.  143 

you  or  somebody.     I  could  hardly  understand  what  she  did 
mean,  she  was  so  excited." 

"  I  rummaging !  "  Magdalen  stammered.  "  Hester  has  queer 
fancies.  She  took  it  into  her  head  that  Mrs.  Irving  was  rum- 
xiaging,  as  she  calls  it,  and  insisted  that  I  should  go  and  see ; 
so  I  went,  to  quiet  her." 

"  And  got  a  cobweb  in  your  hair,"  Roger  added,  playfully 
brushing  from  her  hair  the  cobweb  which  she  had  gotten  under 
the  roof,  and  which  he  held  up  before  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Irving  !  "  Magdalen  exclaimed,  in  real  distress,  for" 
she  did  not  like  the  expression  of  the  eyes  fastened  upon  her. 
"  I  don't  know  what  Hester  may  have  said  to  you,  but  she  has 
such  queer  ideas,  and  she  would  make  me  go  where  she  said 
Mrs.  Irving  was,  and  I  went ;  but  I  meant  no  harm,  believe  me, 
won't  you  ?  " 

Her  cheeks  were  scarlet,  and  her  eyes  were  filling  with  tears 
as  they  looked  up  to  Roger,  who  laughed  merrily,  and  said  : 

"  Of  course  I  believe  you  ;  for  what  possible  harm  could 
there  be  in  your  going  to  the  garret  after  Mrs.  Irving,  or  what 
could  Hester  think  she  was  there  for  ?  " 

He  knew  then  where  she  had  been.  Hester  had  let  that  out, 
but  had  she  told  him  anything  further  ?  Magdalen  did  not 
know.  She  was  resolved,  however,  that  she  would  tell  him 
nothing  herself,  so  she  merely  replied  : 

"  Hester  is  often  out  of  her  head,  and  when  she  is  she  seems 
to  think  that  Mrs.  Irving  meditates  some  harm  to  you." 

"  I  discovered  that  from  what  she  said  while  you  were  gone," 
Roger  rejoined;  and  then,  looking  at  the  clock,  he  saw  it  was 
nearly  one,  and  asked  Magdalen  if  she  would  not  like  him  to 
watch  while  she  slept. 

If  he  knew  of  the  loose  plank,  or  had  a  thought  of  the  will, 
he  gave  no  sign  of  his  knowledge  ;  he  only  seemed  anxious 
about  Magdalen,  and  afraid  that  she  would  over-exert  herself, 
and  when  she  refused  to  sleep,  he  insisted  upon  sitting  with 
her  and  sharing  her  vigils. 

"  It  must  be  tedious  to  watch  alone,"  he  said,  and  then  he 


144  THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET. 

brought  the  large  chair  he  was  accustomed  to  read  in,  and  made 
Magdalen  sit  in  it,  and  found  a  pillow  for  her  head,  and  bade 
her  keep  quiet  and  try  to  rest. 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  cared  for,  especially  as  she  was  tired  and 
worn,  and  Magdalen  sat  very  still,  with  her  head  upon  the 
pillow  and  her  face  in  the  shadow,  until  her  eyelids  began  to 
droop  and  her  hands  to  slide  down  into  her  lap,  and  when 
Roger  asked  if  it  was  time  for  the  medicine,  he  received  no 
answer,  for  Magdalen  was  asleep. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said,  as  he  stood  looking  at  her.  "  She 
has  grown  pale  and  thin  with  nursing  Hester.  I  must  get  some 
one  to  take  her  place,  and  persuade  Hester  to  be  reasonable  for 
once.  Magda  must  not  be  allowed  to  get  sick  if  I  can  help  it. 
How  very  beautiful  she  is,  with  the  long  eyelashes  on  her  cheek 
and  her  hair  rippling  away  from  her  forehead  !  I  wonder  are 
all  young  girls  as  beautiful  in  their  sleep  as  Magda." 

Roger  was  strangely  moved  as  he  stood  looking  at  the  tired 
sleeping  girl.-  Little  by  little,  day  by  day,  week  by  week,  she 
had  been  growing  into  his  heart,  until  now  she  filled  every  niche 
and  corner  of  it,  and  filled  it  so  completely,  that  to  have  torn 
hei  from  it  would  have  left  it  bleeding  and  desolate.  She  was 
no!  his  daughter  now,  nor  his  ward,  nor  his  sister.  She  was 
Magda,  his  princess,  his  queen,  whose  bright  eyes  and  clear, 
ringing  voice  thrilled  him  with  a  new  sense  of  happiness,  and 
made  him  long  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms  and  claim  her  for  his 
own  in  the  only  way  she  could  ever  satisfy  him  now.  And  he 
did  not  greatly  fear  what  her  answer  might  be,  for  he  had  noted 
the  bright  flush  which  always  came  to  her  cheek,  and  the  kind 
ling  light  in  her  starry  eyes  when  he  appeared  suddenly  before 
her.  He  did  not  believe  he  was  indifferent  to  her,  and  as  he 
sat  by  her  until  the  gray  dawn  broke,  he  resolved  that  ere  long 
he  would  end  his  suspense,  and  know  from  her  own  lips  if  she 
could  love  him  enough  to  be  his  wife.  Gradually,  as  her  slum 
ber  grew  more  profound,  the  pillow  slipped,  and  her  head 
dropped  into  a  position  which  looked  so  uncomfortable,  that 
Roger  ventured  to  lift  it  up  and  place  it  more  easily  against 


THE  LOOSE  BOARD  IN  THE    GARRET.  14$ 

the  back  of  the  chair.  An  hour  later  and  Magdalen  woke 
with  a  start,  exclaiming  when  she  saw  the  daylight  through  the 
shutters  and  Hester's  medicine  untouched  upon  the  table, 
"  Why  didn't  you  wake  me  ?  Hester  has  not  taken  her  medi 
cine,  and  the  doctor  will  blame  me." 

"  Hester  is  just  as  well  without  it,"  Roger  answered.  "  She 
has  slept  quietly  every  moment,  and  sleep  will  do  her  more 
good  than  drugs.  My  word  for  it  she  will  be  better  when  she 
•wakes  ;  but,  Magda,  I  shall  get  her  a  nurse  to-day,  and  relieve 
you.  I  cannot  let  you  grow  pale  and  thin.  You  are  looking 
like  a  ghost  now.  Come  with  me  into  the  open  air,  which 
you  need  after  this  close  room." 

He  wrapped  a.  shawl  around  her,  and  taking  her  hood  from 
the  table  in  the  hall  tied  it  upon  her  head  and  then  led  her  out 
upon  the  wide  piazza,  where  the  fresh  breeze  from  the  river 
was  blowing,  and  where  he  walked  up  and  down,  with  h'er  hand 
on  his  arm,  until  the  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks,  and  her 
eyes  had  in  them  their  old,  restless  brightness,  as  she  stood  by 
him  and  looked  off  upon  the  hills  just  growing  red  in  the  light 
of  the  rising  sun. 

It  was  too  early  yet  for  many  flowers,  but  the  April  winds 
had  melted  the  snow  from  off  the  Millbank  grounds,  and  here 
and  there  patches  of  green  grass  were  beginning  to  show,  and 
the  golden  daffodil  was  just  opening  its  leaves  upon  the  borders 
of  the  garden  walk.  Millbank  was  nothing  to  what  it  would  be 
a  few  weeks  later,  but  it  was  handsome  even  now,  and  both 
Roger  and  Magdalen  commented  upon  its  beauty,  while  the 
former  spoke  of  some  improvements  he  had  in  contemplation, 
and  should  commence  as  soon  as  the  ground  was  settled.  A 
fountain  here,  and  a  terrace  there  for  autumn  flowers,  and 
another  winding  walk  leading  to  the  grove  toward  the  mill  he 
meant  to  have,  he  said,  and  a  pretty  little  summer-house  down 
by  the  brook,  like  one  he  had  seen  in  England. 

And  as  he  talked  of  the  summer-house  by  the  brook,  with  its 
rustic  seats  and  stands,  the  sun  passed  into  a  bank  of  clouds, 
the  wind  began  to  freshen  and  blow  up  from  the  riyer  in  raw, 
7 


145  THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE. 

chilling  gusts,  which  made  Magdalen  shiver,  and  brought  to 
her  mind  last  night's  adventure  in  the  garret  where  the  loose 
plank  was.  And  with  thoughts  of  that  plank  there  crept  over 
her  a  deeper  chill,  —  a  feeling  of  depression,  as  if  the  brightness 
of  Millbank  was  passing  away  forever,  and  that  the  change  was 
somehow  being  wrought  by  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    BEGINNING   OF  TROUBLE. 

|ESTER  was  better.  Her  long  sleep  had  done  her 
good,  and  when  she  awoke  it  was  evident  that  hei 
fever  was  broken  and  the  crisis  of  her  disease  passed. 
She  was  perfectly  rational,  and  evidently  retained  no  recollec 
tion  of  what  she  had  said  of  the  garret  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott. 
Indeed,  she  was  very  civil  to  that  lady,  who,  on  her  way  to 
breakfast,  came  in  to  see  her,  looking  very  bright  and  fresh  in 
her  black  wrapper,  trimmed  with  scarlet,  and  her  pretty  little 
breakfast  cap  set  on  the  back  of  her  head.  Good  fare,  which 
she  did  not  have  to  pay  for,  —  pure  country  air,  and  freedom 
from  all  care,  had  had  a  rejuvenating  effect  on  Mrs,.  Walter 
Scott,  and  for  a  woman  of  forty-seven  or  thereabouts,  she  was 
remarkably  handsome  and  well  preserved.  This  morning  she 
complained  of  feeling  a  little  languid.  She  could  not  have 
slept  as  well  as  usual,  she  said,  and  she  dreamed  that  some  one 
came  into  her  room,  or  tried  to  come  in,  and  when  she  woke 
she  was  sure  she  heard  footsteps  at  the  extremity  of  the  hall. 

"  It  was  Roger,  most  likely,"  Hester  rejoined.  "  Like  the 
good  boy  he  is,  he  got  up  about  twelve,  or  thereabouts,  and 
stayed  up  the  rest  of  the  night  with  me  and  Magdalen." 

"Oh-h,"  Mrs.  Irving  replied,  and  ner  eyes  had  in  them  a 
puzzled  look  as  she  left  Hester's  room  and  repaired  to  the 
breakfast-table. 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE.  147 

"  Hester  tells  me  that  you  spent  the  night  with  her,  or  with 
Magdalen,  —  which  was  it  ?  "  she  said  to  Roger  playfully,  as 
she  leisurely  sipped  her  cup  of  coffee. 

There  was  no  reason  why  Magdalen  should  have  colored 
scarlet  as  she  did,  or  why  Roger  should  stammer  and  seem  so 
confused  as  he  replied,  "  Yes,  Hester  was  very  restless,  and 
Magdalen  very  tired,  and  so  I  stayed  with  them." 

"  And  proved  a  very  efficient  watcher,  it  seems ;  for  Hester 
is  better  and  Magdalen  as  blooming  as  a  rose,"  was  Mrs. 
Irving' s  next  remark,  as  she  shot  a  quick,  curious  glance  at 
Magdalen,  whose  burning  cheeks  confirmed  her  in  the  suspicion 
which  until  that  morning  had  never  entered  her  mind. 

Magdalen  cared  for  Roger,  and  Roger  cared  for  Magdalen, 
and  at  last  she  had  the  key  to  Magdalen's  refusal  of  her  son. 

Mrs.  Irving  had  heard  from  Frank  of  his  ill  success,  and 
while  expressing  some  surprise,  had  told  him  not  to  despair, 
and  had  promised  to  do  what  she  could  for  the  furtherance  of 
his  cause.  It  was  no  part  of  her  plan  to  speak  to  Magdalen 
then  upon  the  subject,  but  she  was  more  than  usually  kind  and 
affectionate  in  her  manner  towards  the  girl,  hoping  that  by  this 
means  the  mother  might  succeed  where  the  son  had  failed. 
Now,  however,  an  unlooked-for  obstacle  had  arisen,  and  for  once 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  uncertain  what  to  do.  She  had  never 
dreamed  that  Roger  might  fancy  Magdalen,  he  was  so  much 
older  and  seemed  to  care  so  little  for  women ;  but  she  was 
sure  now  that  he  did,  and  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  she 
had  looked  upon  as  eventually  sure  seemed  to  be  fading  from 
her  grasp.  There  were  wrinkles  in  her  forehead  when  she  left 
the  breakfast  table,  and  her  face  wore  a  kind  of  abstracted 
look,  as  if  she  were  intently  studying  some  new  device  or  plan. 
It  came  to  her  at  last,  and  when  next  she  was  alone  with 
Frank,  she  said,  "  I  have  been  thinking  that  it  might  be  well 
for  you  to  get  Roger's  consent  for  you  to  address  Magdalen." 

"  Roger's  consent ! "  Frank  repeated,  in  some  surprise.  "  1 
should  say  Magdalen's  consent  was  of  more  consequence  than 
Roger's." 


148  THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE. 

11  Yes,  I  know,"  and  the  lady  smiled  meaningly.  "  You  said 
to  me  once  that  you  loved  Magdalen  well  enough  to  take  hei 
on  any  terms,  and  wait  for  the  affection  she  withholds  from  you 
now." 

"  Yes,  I  said  so ;  but  what  of  it  ?  "  Frank  asked ;  and  his 
mother  replied,  "  I  think  I  know  Magdalen  better  than  you 
do.  She  has  implicit  confidence  in  Roger's  judgment,  and  an 
intense  desire  to  please  him.  Let  her  once  believe  he  wishes 
her  to  marry  you,  and  the  thing  is  done.  At  least,  it  is  worth 
the  trial,  and  I  would  speak  to  Roger  without  delay  and  get  his 
consent.  Or  stay,"  she  added,  as  she  reflected  that  Frank 
would  probably  make  a  bungle  and  let  out  that  Magdalen  had 
refused  him  once,  "  I  will  do  it  for  you.  A  woman  knows  so 
much  better  what  to  say  than  a  man." 

Frank  had  but  little  faith  in  his  mother's  scheme,  and  he  was 
about  to  tell  her  so,  when  Magdalen  herself  came  in.  She  had 
just  returned  from  accompanying  Roger  as  far  as  the  end  of 
the  avenue  on  his  way  to  his  office.  He  told  her  that  a 
walk  in  the  bracing  air  would  do  her  good,  and  had  taken  her 
with  him  to  the  gate  which  was  the  entrance  to  the  Millbank 
grounds.  There  they  had  lingered  a  little,  and  Roger  had 
seemed  more  lover-like  than  ever  before,  and  Magdalen's  eyes 
had  shone  on  him  like  stars  and  kept  him  at  her  side  long  after 
he  knew  he  ought  to  be  at  his  office,  where  some  of  his  men 
were  waiting  for  him.  At  last,  warned  by  the  striking  of  the 
village  clock  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  he  said  a  final  good- 
by,  and  Magdalen  returned  to  the  house,  flushed  with  excite 
ment  and  radiant  with  happiness,  which  showed  itself  in  her 
eyes  and  face,  and  in  her  unusual  graciousness  towards  Frank. 
Now  that  she  began  herself  to  know  what  it  was  to  love,  and 
ha>v  terrible  it  would  be  to  lose  the  object  of  her  love,  she  pitied 
Frank  so  much,  and  never  since  that  night  in  the  library  had 
she  seemed  to  him  so  much  like  the  Magdalen  of  old  as  she 
did,  when,  with  her  large  straw  hat  upon  her  arm,  she  stood 
talking  with  him  a  few  moments,  mingling  much  of  her  old 
coquetry  of  manner  with  what  she  said,  and  leaving  him  at  last 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE.  149 

perfectly  willing  that  his  mother  should  do  anything  which 
would  further  his  cause  with  Magdalen. 

That  night,  when  dinner  was  over  and  Magdalen  was  with 
Hester,  who  was  recovering  rapidly,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  took  her 
balls  of  worsted  and  her  crocheting,  and  knocking  softly  at  the 
door  of  the  library,  where  she  knew  Roger  was,  asked  if  she 
might  come  in.  He  thought  it  was  Magdalen's  knock,  and 
looked  a  little  disappointed  when  he  found  who  his  visitor  was. 
But  he  bade  her  come  in,  and  bringing  a  chair  for  her  near  to 
the  light,  asked  what  he  could  do  for  her. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  Frank  and  Magdalen,"  Mrs. 
Irving  said.  "  You  must  of  course  have  seen  the  growing 
affection  between  the  young  people  ?  " 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  pretended  to  be  very  busy  counting  her 
stitches,  but  she  managed  to  steal  a  side  glance  at  her  compan 
ion,  who  fairly  gasped  at  what  he  had  heard,  and  whose  fingers 
fluttered  nervously  among  the  papers  on  the  table,  on  one  of 
which  he  kept  writing,  in  an  absent  kind  of  way  and  in  every 
variety  of  hand,  the  name  of  Magdalen.  He  had  not  noticed 
the  growing  affection  between  the  young  people ;  that  is,  he 
had  seen  nothing  on  Magdalen's  part  to  warrant  such  a  con 
clusion.  Once,  just  after  his  return  from  Europe,  he  had  thought 
his  nephew's  attentions  very  marked,  and  a  thought  had  crossed 
his  mind  as  to  what  might  possibly  be  the  result.  But  all  this 
was  past,  as  he  believed,  and  his  sister's  intelligence  came 
upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt,  stunning  him  for  an  instant,  and 
making  him  powerless  to  speak.  Those  were  fierce  heart-pangs 
which  Roger  was  enduring,  and  they  showed  themselves  upon 
his  face,  which  was  very  pale,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
twitched  painfully,  but  his  voice  was  steady  and  natural  as  he 
said  at  last,  — 

"And  Magdalen,  • — does  she  —  have  you  reason  to  believe 
she  would  return  a  favorable  answer  to  Frank's  suit  ?  " 

Mrs.  Irving  was  sure  now  that  what  she  had  suspected  was 
true,  and  that  nothing  but  a  belief  in  Magdalen's  preference  for 
another  would  avail  with  him,  so  she  replied  unhesitatingly,' — •. 


ISO  THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  I  have  suspected  for  years  that  she  wa? 
strongly  attached  to  Frank,  and  her  manner  towards  him  fully 
warrants  me  in  that  belief.  She  is  the  soul  of  honor,  and  nevef 
professes  what  she  does  not  feel." 

"Ye-es,"  Roger  said,  with  something  between  a  sigh  and  a 
long-drawn  breath,  assenting  thus  to  what  his  sister  said,  and 
trying  to  reconcile  with  it  Magdalen's  demeanor  toward  himself 
of  late. 

If  she  was  attached  to  Frank,  and  had  been  for  years,  \\liy 
that  sudden  kindling  of  her  eyes,  and  that  lighting  up  of  her 
whole  face  whenever  he  was  with  her,  and  why  that  sweet 
graciousness  of  manner  towards  him  which  she  had  of  late 
evinced  ?  Was  Magdalen  a  coquette,  or  was  that  the  way  of 
girls  ?  Roger  did  not  know,  —  he  had  never  made  them  a  study, 
never  been  interested  in  any  girl  or  woman  except  Magdalen  ; 
and  now,  when  he  must  lose  her,  he  began  to  feel  that  he  had 
loved  her  always  from  the  moment  when  he  took  her  as  his 
child  and  first  held  her  baby  hands  in  his,  and  laid  her  soft 
cheek  against  his  own.  She  was  his,  —  he  had  a  better  right  to 
her  than  Frank,  and  he  wrote  her  name  all  over  the  sheet  of 
paper  on  the  table,  and  thought  of  all  the  castles  he  had  built 
within  the  last  few  weeks,  —  castles  of  the  time  when  Magdalen 
would  be  really  his  and  he  could  lavish  upon  her  the  love  and 
tender  caresses  he  Avould  be  coy  of  giving  any  one  who  was  not 
his  wife.  Roger  was  naturally  very  reserved,  —  and  in  his  in 
tercourse  with  Magdalen  he  had  only  shown  her  glimpses  of  the 
deep,  warm  love  he  felt  for  her.  He  held  peculiar  notions 
about  such  things,  and  he  was  sorry  now  that  he  did, —  sorry  that 
he  had  not  improved  his  opportunities  and  won  her  for  his  own 
before  Frank  appealed  to  him,  as  he  had  done  through  his 
mother,  and  thus  sealed  his  lips  forever.  He  was  thinking  of 
r.ll  this,  and  was  so  absorbed  in  it  that  he  forgot  his  sister  was 
there  watching  him  narrowly,  but  veiling  her  watchfulness  with 
her  apparent  interest  in  her  worsted  work,  which  became 
strangely  tangled  and  mixed,  and  required  her  whole  attention 
to  unravel  and  set  right.  But  she  could  not  sit  still  all  the 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE.  I$l 

evening  and  let  Roger  fill  that  sheet  of  foolscap  wich  "  Magda 
len ;  "  she  must  recall  him  to  the  point  at  issue,  and  so  she  said 
at  last,  — 

"  Frank  will  do  nothing  without  your  sanction,  and  what  he 
wants  is  your  permission,  as  Magdalen's  guardian,  for  him  to 
address  her.  Can  he  have  it  ?  " 

Then  Roger  looked  up  a  moment,  and  the  pencil  which  had 
been  so  busy  began  to  trace  a  long  black  line  through  every 
name  as  if  he  thus  would  blot  out  the  sweetest  dream  of  his 
life. 

"  Have  my  permission  to  address  Magdalen  ?  Yes  —  cer 
tainly,  if  he  wants  it.  I  had  thought — yes,  I  had  hoped  —  I 
had  supposed  —  " 

Here  Roger  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  then,  as  the  only  thing 
he  could  do,  he  added,  — 

"I  thought  I  had  heard  something  about  a  Miss  Grey  of 
New  York,  and  that  probably  has  misled  me.  Was  there  noth 
ing  in  that  report  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  Mrs.  Irving  replied.  "  Frank  knew  her  in  New 
Haven  and  met  her  abroad,  and  so  it  was  only  natural  he  should 
call  upon  her  in  New  York.  There  is  nothing  in  that  rumor  ; 
absolutely  nothing.  Frank's  mind  was  too  full  of  Magdalen  for 
him  to  care  for  a  hundred  Miss  Greys.  Poor  foolish  boy,  it 
brings  my  own  youth  back  to  me  to  see  him  so  infatuated.  I 
must  go  to  him  now,  for  I  know  how  anxiously  he  is  waiting 
for  me.  Thank  you  for  the  favorable  answer  I  can  give  him." 

She  hurried  from  the  room  and  out  into  the  hall,  never  stop 
ping  to  heed  the  voice  which  called  after  her,  — 

"  Helen,  oh,  Helen  ! " 

Roger  did  not  know  what  he  wanted  to  say  to  her.  His  call 
was  a  kind  of  protest  against  her  considering  the  matter  settled 
as  wholly  as  she  seemed  to  think  it  was.  He  could  not  give 
Magdalen  up  so  easily,  —  he  must  make  one  effort  for  himself, 
• —  and  so  he  had  tried  to  call  his  sister  back,  but  she  did  not 
hear  him,  and  went  on  her  way,  leaving  him  alone  with  his 
great  sorrow. 


1 52  THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE. 

Frank  was  in  his  own  room,  lazily  reclining  in  his  easy  chair 
and  about  finishing  the  second  cigar  in  which  he  had  indulged 
since  dinner.  He  took  his  third  when  his  mother  came  in,  foi 
he  saw  that  she  had  something  to  tell  him,  and  he  could  listen 
so  much  better  when  he  was  smoking.  With  a  faint  protest 
against  the  atmosphere  of  the  room,  which  was  thick  with  the 
fumes  of  tobacco,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  began  her  story,  telling  him 
that  he  had  Roger's  consent  to  speak  to  Magdalen  as  soon  as 
he  liked,  but  not  telling  him  of  her  suspicions  that  Roger,  too, 
would  in  time  have  spoken  for  himself,  if  his  nephew  had  not 
first  taken  the  field.  It  was  strange  that  such  a  possibility  had 
never  occurred  to  Frank.  He,  too,  had  a  fancy  that  Roger  was 
too  old  for  Magdalen,  —  that  he  was  really  more  her  father  than 
her  lover,  and  he  never  dreamed  of  him  as  a  rival. 

"  I  wish  you  could  arrange  it  with  Magdalen  as  easily  as  you 
have  with  Roger,"  he  said ;  and  his  mother  replied,  "  She  will 
think  better  of  it  another  time.  Girls  frequently  say  no  at 
first." 

"  But  not  the  way  Magdalen  said  it,"  Frank  rejoined.  "  She 
was  in  earnest.  She  meant  it,  I  am  sure." 

"  Try  her  with  Roger's  consent.  Tell  her  he  wishes  it ;  not 
that  he  is  willing,  but  that  he  wishes  it.  You  will  find  that 
argument  all-powerful,"  Mrs.  Irving  said. 

Being  a  woman  herself  she  knew  how  to  work  upon  another 
woman's  feelings,  and  she  talked  to  and  encouraged  her  son 
until  he  caught  something  of  her  hopefulness,  and  saw  himself 
the  fortunate  possessor  of  all  the  glorious  beauty  and  sprightli- 
ness  embodied  in  Magdalen,  who  little  dreamed  of  what  lay 
before  her,  and  who  next  morning,  at  the  breakfast  table,  won 
dered  at  Frank's  exhilaration  of  spirits  and  Roger's  evident 
depression.  He  was  very  pale,  and  bore  the  look  of  cne  who 
had  not  slept ;  but  he  tried  to  be  cheerful,  and  smiled  a  faint, 
sickly  kind  of  smile  at  Magdalen's  lively  badinage  with  Frank, 
whom  she  teased  and  coquetted  with  something  after  her  olden 
fashion,  not  because  she  enjoyed  it,  but  because  she  saw  there 
was  a  cloud  somewhere,  and  would  fain  dispel  it.  She  never 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE.  153 

joked  with  Roger  as  she  did  with  Frank ;  but  this  morning, 
when  she  met  him  in  the  hall,  where  he  was  drawing  on  his 
gloves  preparatory  to  going  out,  she  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter,  and  if  he  had  one  of  his  bad  headaches  coming  on. 

"  H:s  throat  was  a  little  sore,"  he  said  ;  "he  did  not  sleep 
much  last  night,  but  the  walk  to  the  village  would  do  him  good." 

Magdalen  had  taken  a  long  scarf  from  the  hall-stand,  and 
holding  it  toward  him,  said,  "  It's  :old  this  morning,  and  my 
teeth  fairly  chattered  when  I  went  out  on  the  piazza,  for  my 
run  with  old  Rover.  Please  wear  this  round  your  throat,  Mr. 
Irving.  Let  me  put  it  on  for  you." 

There  was  a  soft  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  look  of  tender  in 
terest  in  her  face,  and  Roger  bent  his  head  before  her  and  let 
her  wind  the  warm  scarf  round  his  neck  and  throw  the  fringed 
ends  over  his  shoulder.  Roger  was  tall,  and  Magdalen  stood 
on  tiptoe,  with  her  arms  almost  meeting  round  his  neck  as  she 
adjusted  the  scarf  behind,  and  her  face  came  so  near  to  his 
that  he  could  feel  her  breath  stir  his  hair  just  as  her  presence 
stirred  the  inmost  depths  of  his  heart,  tempting  him  to  take  her 
in  his  arms  and  beg  of  her  not  to  heed  Frank's  suit,  but  listen 
first  to  him,  who  had  the  better  right  to  her.  But  Roger  was  a 
prudent  man ;  the  hall  was  not  the  place  for  love-making,  so 
he  restrained  himself,  and  only  took  one  of  Magdalen's  hands 
in  his  and  held  it  while  he  thanked  her  for  her  thoughtfulness. 

"  You  are  better  than  a  physician,  Magda.  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  you.  I  hope  you  will  never  leave 
Millbank." 

So  much  he  did  say,  and  his  eyes  had  an  earnest,  pleading 
look  in  them,  which  haunted  Magdalen  all  the  morning,  and 
made  her  very  happy  as  she  flitted  about  the  house,  or  dashed 
off  one  brilliant  piece  after  another  upon  her  piano,  which 
seemed  almost  to  talk  beneath  her  spirited  touch. 

Meanwhile,  Roger  and  Frank  were  alone  in  the  office.     The 

brisk  wind  which  was  blowing  in  the  morning  had  brought  on 

an  April  shower  of  sleet  and  rain,  and  there  was  not  much 

prospect  of  visitors  or  clients.     Roger  sat  by  his  desk,  pretend- 

7* 


154  THE  BEGINNING   OF   TROUBLE. 

ing  to  read,  while  Frank  at  his  table  was  doing  just  what  Rogei 
had  done  the  previous  night,  viz.,  writing  Magdalen's  name  on 
slips  of  paper,  and  adding  to  it  once  the  name  of  Irving,  just  to 
see  how  it  would  look ;  and  Roger,  who  got  up  for  a  book 
which  was  over  Frank's  head,  saw  it,  and  smiled  sadly  as  he 
remembered  that  he,  too,  had  written  "Magdalen  Irving,"  just 
as  Frank  was  doing.  There  was  a  little  mirror  over  the  table, 
where  Frank  had  placed  it  for  his  own  use ;  for  he  was  vain  oi 
his  personal  appearance,  and  his  hair  and  collar  and  necktie 
needed  frequent  fixing.  Into  this  mirror  Roger  glanced  and 
then  looked  down  upon  his  nephew,  who  at  that  moment 
seemed  a  boy  compared  with  him.  Frank's  light  hair  and  skin, 
and  whitish,  silky  mustache,  gave  him  a  very  youthful  appear 
ance  and  made  him  look  younger  than  he  was,  while  Roger 
had  grown  old  within  the  night.  There  were  no  gray  hairs,  it 
is  true,  among  his  luxuriant  brown  locks ;  but  he  was  haggard 
and  pale,  and  there  were  dark  circles  beneath  his  eyes,  and  he 
felt  tired  and  worn  and  old,  — too  old  to  mate  with  Magdalen's 
bright  beauty.  Frank  was  better  suited  to  her  in  point  of  age, 
and  Frank  should  have  her  if  she  preferred  him.  Roger 
reached  this  conclusion  hastily,  and  then,  by  way  of  strength 
ening  it,  pointed  playfully  to  the  name  on  the  paper,  and  asked, 
"  Have  you  spoken  to  her  yet  ?  " 

Frank  was  glad  Roger  had  broached  the  subject,  and  he 
began  at  once  to  tell  what  he  meant  to  do  and  be,  if  Magdalen 
would  but  listen  favorably  to  him.  He  would  study  so  hard, 
and  overcome  his  laziness  and  his  expensive  habits,  and  be  a 
man,  such  as  he  knew  he  had  not  been,  but  such  as  he  felt  he 
was  capable  of  being  with  Magdalen  as  his  leading  star.  He 
had  not  spoken  to  her  yet,  he  said,  but  he  should  do  so  that 
night,  and  he  was  glad  to  have  Roger's  approval,  as  that  would 
surely  bias  Magdalen's  decision.  Frank  grew  very  enthusiastic, 
and  drove  his  penknife  repeatedly  into  the  table,  and  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  hair,  and  pulled  up  his  collar  and  looked  in 
the  glass ;  but  never  glanced  at  Roger,  to  whom  every  word  he 


THE  BEGINNING    OF   TROUBLE.  155 

altered  was  like  a  stab,  and  whose  face  was  wet  with  perspira 
tion  as  he  listened  and  felt  that  his  heart  was  breaking. 

"  I'd  better  go  away  for  a  day  or  two,  until  the  matter  is 
settled,  for  if  I  stay  I  might  say  that  to  Magdalen  which  would 
hardly  be  fair  to  say,  after  Frank's  confiding  in  me  as  he  has," 
Roger  thought ;  and,  after  the  mail  came  in,  and  he  had  some 
pretext  for  doing  so,  he  announced  his  intention  of  going  to 
New  York  in  the  afternoon  train.  "  I  shall  not  go  to  the 
house/'  he  said,  "  as  I  have  some  writing  to  do ;  so  please  tell 
your  mother  where  I  have  gone,  and  that  I  may  not  return 
until  day  after  to-morrow." 

With  all  his  efforts  to  seem  natural,  there  was  something 
hurried  and  excited  in  his  manner,  which  Frank  observed  and 
wondered  at,  but  he  attributed  it  to  some  perplexity  in  business 
matters,  and  never  suspected  that  it  had  anything  to  do  with 
him  and  his  prospective  affairs. 

Roger  talked  but  little  that  morning,  but  busied  himself  at 
his  own  desk,  until  time  for  the  train,  when,  with  some  direc 
tions  to  Frank  as  to  what  to  do  in  case  certain  persons  called, 
he  left  his  office  and  went  on  his  way  to  New  York. 

After  Roger's  departure,  Frank  grew  tired  of  staying  alone. 
The  day  had  continued  wet  and  uncomfortable,  and  few  had 
dropped  in  at  the  office,  and  these  for  only  a  moment.  So, 
after  a  little,  he  started  for  Millbank,  resolving,  if  a  good  oppor 
tunity  occurred,  to  speak  to  Magdalen  again  on  the  subject 
uppermost  in  his  mind.  He  did  not  see  his  mother  as  he  en 
tered  the  house,  but  he  met  a  servant  in  the  hall  and  asked  for 
Magdalen. 

"Miss  Lennox  was  in  Mrs.  Floyd's  room,"  the  servant  said, 
and  Frank  went  there  to  find  her. 

"  I  sent  her  up  garret  to  shet  a  winder  and  hain't  seen  her 
sense,"  Hester  said  in  answer  to  his  question.  "  She's  some- 
wheres  round,  most  likely.  Did  you_  want  anything  par 
ticular  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing  very  particular,"  was  Frank's  reply,  as  he  left 
the  room  and  continued  his  search  for  Magdalen,  first  in  the 


156      WHAT  MAGDALEN  FOUND  IN  THE  GARRET. 

parlors,  and  then  in  the  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  uppei 
hall,  which  had  been  fitted  up  for  a  fernery. 

Not  finding  her  there  and  remembering  what  Hester  had 
said  about  the  garret,  he  started  at  last  in  that  direction,  though 
he  had  but  little  idea  that  she  was  there.  If  she  had  come 
down,  as  he  supposed,  she  had  left  the  door  open  behind  her, 
and  he  was  about  to  shut  it,  when  a  sound  met  his  ear,  which 
made  him  stop  and  listen  until  it  was  repeated.  It  came  again 
ere  long,  —  a  sound  half  way  between  a  moan  and  a  low,  gasp 
ing  sob,  and  Frank  ran  swiftly  up  the  stairs,  for  it  was  Magda 
len's  voice,  and  he  knew  now  that  Magdalen  was  in  the  garret. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WHAT   MAGDALEN    FOUND    IN   THE    GARRET. 

AGDALEN  had  not  forgotten  "  the  loose  plank,"  but 
since  the  night  of  her  adventure  in  the  garret  she  had 
never  been  near  that  part  of  the  building,  though 
sorely  tempted  to  do  so  every  day  and  hour  of  her  life.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  some  powerful  influence  was  urging  her  on 
toward  the  garret,  while  a  still  more  powerful  influence  to 
which  she  gave  no  name  was  constantly  holding  her  back. 
She  had  puzzled  over  the  loose  plank,  and  dreamed  of  it,  and 
speculated  upon  it,  and  wondered  if  there  was  anything  under 
it,  and  if  so,  was  it  — ,  she  never  quite  said  what,  even  to  her 
self,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  should  in  some  way  be 
wronging  Roger  if  she  breathed  the  name  of  will.  Of  one 
thing,  however,  she  felt  certain ;  if  there  was  a  paper  secreted 
in  the  garret,  old  Hester  knew  of  it,  and  had  had  a  hand  in 
hiding  it ;  and  once  she  thought  of  quizzing  Aleck  to  see  if  he 
too  knew  about  it.  She  could  not  have  done  much  with  him, 
for  had  he  known  of  the  will,  he  would,  if  questioned  with 


WHAT  MAGDALEN  FOUNL   IN  THE  GARRET.      157 

regard  to  it,  have  been  so  deaf  that  everybody  in  the  house 
would  have  heard  the  conversation.  Aleck  was  not  fond  of 
talking,  and  in  order  to  avoid  it,  had  a  way,  as  Hester  said,  of 
affecting  to  be  deafer  than  he  was,  and  so  was  usually  left  in 
peace.  He  always  heard  Roger,  and  generally  Magdalen  ;  but 
to  the  rest  of  the  household  he  was  as  deaf  as  a  post  unless  it 
suited  him  to  hear.  It  was  useless  to  question  him,  and  so 
Magdalen  kept  her  own  counsel  for  two  weeks  after  that  mem 
orable  night  when  Roger  had  shared  her  vigils,  and  from  which 
time  Hester's  recovery  had  been  rapid. 

She  was  able  now  to  sit  up  all  day,  but  had  not  yet  been  to 
the  kitchen,  and  when  she  asked  Magdalen  to  go  and  shut  the 
garret  window  which  she  had  left  open  in  the  morning  and  into 
which  she  was  sure  the  rain  was  pouring,  Magdalen  expressed 
a  good  deal  of  surprise  that  she  should  have  ventured  into  the 
garret,  and  asked  why  she  went  there. 

"  I  wanted  to  look  over  them  clothes  in  the  chest ;  I  knew 
they  needed  airin',"  Hester  said,  and  Magdalen  accepted  the 
explanation  and  started  for  the  garret. 

It  was  raining  fast,  and  as  she  opened  the  door  which  led  up 
the  stairs,  a  gust  of  wind  blew  down  into  her  face,  and  she 
heard  the  heavy  rain  drops  on  the  roof.  The  window  was  open 
as  Hester  had  said,  and  Magdalen  shut  it,  and  then  stood  a 
moment  looking  off  upon  the  river  and  the  hills  over  which  the 
April  shower  was  sweeping  in  misty  sheets.  To  the  right  lay 
the  little  village  of  Belvidere,  where  Roger's  office  was.  She 
could  see  the  white  building  nestled  among  the  elms  in  one 
corner  of  the  common,  and  the  sight  of  it  made  her  heart  beat 
faster  than  its  wont,  and  brought  before  her  the  scene  of  the 
morning  when  Roger  had  held  her  hand  in  his,  and  looked  so 
kindly  into  her  eyes.  She  could  feel  the  pressure  of  his  broad, 
warm  hand  even  now,  and  she  felt  her  cheeks  grow  hot  beneath 
the  look  which  seemed  to  beam  upon  her  here  in  the  gloomy 
garret  where  there  was  only  rubbish,  and  rats,  and  barrels,  and 
chests,  and  loose  planks  under  the  roof.  She  started,  almost 
guiltily,  when  she  remembered  the  latter,  and  turned  her  face 


I  53      WHAT  MAGDALEN  FOUND  IN  THE  GARRET. 

resolutely  from  that  part  of  the  room,  lest  she  should  go  that  wai 
and  see  for  herself  what  was  hidden  there.  Hester  had  said,  "  1 
went  to  air  the  clothes  in  the  old  chest,"  and  Magdalen  turned 
to  the  chest  and  looked  at  it,  carelessly  at  first,  then  more 
closely,  and  finally  went  down  on  her  knees  to  examine  some 
thing  which  made  her  grow  cold  and  faint  for  a  moment. 

It  was  nothing  but  a  large  cobweb,  but  it  covered  the  entire 
fastening  of  the  chest,  stretching  from  the  lid  down  across  the 
keyhole,  and  showing  plainly  that  the  chest  had  not  been  open 
in  weeks.  It  could  not  be  opened  without  disturbing  the  cob 
web,  for  Magdalen  tried  it,  and  saw  the  fleecy  thing  torn  apart 
as  she  lifted  the  lid.  There  was  a  paper  package  lying  on  top 
of  the  linen,  and  from  a  rent  in  one  corner  Magdalen  saw  a  bit 
of  the  dress  she  had  worn  to  Millbank.  It  was  years  since  she 
had  seen  it,  and  at  the  sight  of  it  now  she  felt  a  thrill  of  pain, 
and  turned  her  head  away.  There  was  too  much  of  mystery 
and  humiliation  connected  with  that  little  dress  for  her  to  care 
to  look  at  it ;  and  she  shut  the  lid  quickly,  and  said  to  herself, 
as  she  turned  away  : 

"  Hester  has  not  opened  the  chest  to-day.  What,  then,  was 
she  here  for  ?  " 

Then,  swift  as  lightning,  the  answer  came : 

"  She  was  here  to  look  after  whatever  is  hidden  under  that 
loose  plank,  and  probably  to  remove  it." 

Yes,  that  was  the  solution  of  the  mystery.  If  there  tiadbeen 
anything  under  the  floor,  it  had  been  transferred  to  some  other 
hiding-place,  and,  woman-like,  Magdalen  began  to  feel  a  little 
sorry  that  she  had  lost  her  chance  for  knowing  what  was  there. 

"  There  can  be  no  harm  in  looking  now,  if  it  is  really  gone," 
she  said;  and  following  some  impulse  she  did  not  try  to  resist, 
she  went  toward  that  part  of  the  garret,  putting  a  broken  chair 
out  of  her  way,  and  bending  down  beneath  the  slanting  rafters. 

It  was  raining  hard,  and  she  went  back  a  step  or  two,  and 
glanced  at  the  window  against  which  the  storm  was  beating. 
She  was  not  afraid  there,  in  broad  daylight  •  but  a  strange  feel 
ing  of  awe  and  dread  began  to  creep  over  her,  mingled  with 


WHAT  MAGDALEN  FOUND  IN  THE  GARRET.      159 

a  firmer  determination  to  explore  that  spot  under  the  floor. 
She  did  not  believe  she  should  find  anything,  but  she  musl 
look,  —  she  must  satisfy  herself,  let  the  consequence  be  what 
it  might.  She  did  not  think  of  Roger,  nor  the  will,  nor  Frank, 
but,  strange  to  say,  a  thought  of  Jessie  crossed  her  mind,  — 
Jessie,  the  drowned  woman,  who  seemed  so  near  to  her  that 
she  involuntarily  looked  over  her  shoulder  to  see  if  a  spectre 
were  there.  Then  she  bent  low  under  the  beams,  —  went 
nearer  to  the  loose  plank,  — had  her  hands  upon  it,  and  knew 
that  it  did  not  fit  as  perfectly  as  on  that  night  when  she  first 
discovered  it.  It  had  been  moved.  Somebody  had  been 
there  recently,  and,  trembling  with  excitement,  Magdalen 
grasped  the  plank,  and  drew  it  up  from  its  position,  shrinking 
a  little  from  the  dark  opening  which  looked  so  like  a  grave. 
Gradually,  as  she  saw  clearer,  she  could  distinguish  the  lath 
and  plastering,  with  bits  of  chips  and  shavings  and  sawdust, 
and  signs  that  the  rats  lived  there.  Then,  leaning  forward,  she 
peered  down  under  the  floor,  looking  to  the  north,  looking  to 
the  east,  then  to  the  south,  and  lastly  to  the  west,  where, 
pushed  back  as  far  as  possible  from  sight,  was  a  little  box, 
the  cover  of  which  was  tied  firmly  down  with  a  bit  of  white 
Marseilles  braid,  such  as  Magdalen  was  trimming  her  dress 
with  a  few  days  before  in  Hester  Floyd's  room.  She  had 
missed  about  half  a  yard,  which  could  not  at  the  time  be 
found,  but  she  had  found  it  now,  and  she  grew  diz/.y  and 
faint  a'j  »he  reached  for  the  box,  and  brought  it  out  to  the 
daylight. 

Whatever  the  mystery  was,  she  had  it  in  her  hands,  and  she 
sat  down  upon  a  chair  to  recover  her  breath,  and  decide  what 
she  should  do. 

"  Put  it  back  where  you  found  it,"  was  suggested  to  her;  but 
she  could  not  do  that,  and  seemingly  without  an  effort  on  her 
part  her  fingers  nervously  untied  the  hard  knot,  then  slowly 
unwound  the  braid,  which  she  examined  to  see  if  it  was  soiled, 
and  if  there  was  not  enough  for  the  pocket  of  her  sack,  if  she 
decided  to  have  one. 


l6o     WHAT  MAGDALEN  FOUND  IN  THE  GARRET. 

She  thought  there  was,  and  she  laid  it  on  her  lap  and  then 
opened  the  lid ! 

There  were  two  packages  inside,  and  both  were  wrapped  in 
thick  brown  paper,  which  Magdalen  removed  carefully,  and 
without  the  least  agitation  now.  Her  excitement  had  either 
passed  or  was  so  great  that  she  did  not  heed  it,  and  she  was 
conscious  of  no  emotions  whatever  as "  she  sat  there  removing 
the  paper  wrappings  from  what  seemed  to  be  a  letter,  an  old, 
yellow,  soiled  letter,  directed  to  "  Master  Roger  L.  Irving,"  in 
a  handwriting  she  did  not  know.  She  did  not  open  the  letter, 
but  she  read  the  name  and  whispered  it  to  herself,  and  thought 
by  some  strange  accident  of  that  morning  by  the  river  when 
Roger  had  spoken  of  working  for  her  with  his  hands,  and  of  her 
helping  him  in  case  he  should  lose  Millbank.  Why  she  should 
recall  that  incident  she  could  not  tell  any  more  than  she  could 
guess  that  she  held  in  her  hands  that  which  would  eventually 
lead  to  just  such  an  alternative  as  Roger  had  suggested. 

She  put  the  letter  down,  and  took  the  other  package  and 
removed  its  wrappings  and  turned  it  to  the  light,  uttering  a  cry 
of  terror  and  surprise  at  what  was  written  there.  She  must  read 
it,  —  she  would  read  it  and  know  the  worst,  and  she  opened  the 
worn  document,  which  was  dated  back  so  many  years,  and  read 
it  through  while  her  fingers  seemed  to  grow  big  and  numb,  and 
she  felt  her  arms  prickle  to  her  shoulders.  Once  she  thought 
of  paralysis,  as  the  strange  sensation  went  creeping  through  her 
whole  system,  and-she  was  conscious  of  feeling  that  she  merited 
some  such  punishment  for  the  idle  curiosity  which  had  resulted 
so  disastrously. 

She  read  every  word  that  was  written  on  the  paper,  and  un 
derstood  it,  too,  —  that  is,  understood  what  the  dead  old  man 
had  done,  but  not  why  he  had  done  it.  That  was  something 
for  which  she  could  find  no  excuse,  no  reason.  Doubtless  the 
letter  directed  to  Roger  contained  the  explanation,  if  there  was 
one ;  but  that  was  sacred  to  her,  —  that  was  Roger's  alone.  She 
could  not  meddle  with  that ;  she  would  give  it  to  him  just  as 
she  had  found  it. 


W  rHA  T  MA  G.DAL  EN  FO  UND  IN  THE  CARRE  T.      1 6 1 

"  Poor  wronged  Roger ;  it  will  kill  him,"  she  moaned ;  "  and 
to  think  that  I  should  be  the  instrument  of  his  ruin." 

She  was  rocking  to  and  fro  in  her  distress,  with  her  hands 
locked  together  around  her  knees,  and  her  head  bowed  in  her 
lap.  What  could  she  do  ?  What  should  she  do  ?  she  asked 
herself,  and  something  answered  again,  "  Put  it  where  you  found 
it,  and  keep  your  own  counsel." 

Surely  that  advice  was  good,  and  Magdalen  started  to  follow 
it,  when  suddenly  there  came  back  to  her  the  words,  "  If  I  be 
lieved  it,  I  would  move  heaven  and  earth  to  find  it." 

Roger  had  spoken  thus  on  that  summer  morning,  which 
seemed  so  long  ago.  Roger  was  honest ;  Roger  was  just ; 
Roger  would  bid  her  take  that  dreadful  paper  to  him,  though 
total  ruin  was  the  result. 

Twice  Magdalen  started  for  the  dark  opening  under  the 
roof  and  as  often  stopped  suddenly,  until  at  last,  overcome 
with  excitement  and  anguish,  she  crouched  down  upon  the 
floor,  and  moaned  piteously,  "  Oh,  Roger,  Roger,  if  you  must 
be  ruined,  I  wish  it  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  some  other  one 
to  ruin  you.  Was  it  for  this  you  brought  me  here  ?  for  this 
you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  ?  Oh,  Roger,  I  cannot  live  to 
see  you  a  beggar.  Why  was  it  done  ?  What  was  it  for  ?  " 

The  words  she  uttered  were  not  intelligible,  and  only  her  sob 
bing  moans  met  Frank's  ear  and  sent  him  up  the  steep  stairway 
to  where  she  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  lap  and  the  fatal 
paper  clutched  firmly  in  her  hand. 

"  Magdalen,  what  is  it  ?  What  has  happened  to  you  ? " 
Frank  asked,  and  then  Magdalen  first  became  aware  of  his 
presence. 

Uttering  a  low  scream  she  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  turned 
toward  him  a  face  the  expression  of  which  he  never  forgot,  it 
was  so  full  of  pain  and  anguish,  of  terror  and  mute  entreaty. 
There  was  no  escape  now,  for  he  was  there  with  her,  —  the 
heir,  the  supplanter  of  poor  Roger.  Heaven  would  not  suffer 
her  to  hide  it  as  she  might  have  done  if  left  alone  a  little  longer. 
It  had  sent  Frank  to  prevent  the  wrong,  and  she  must  do  the 


1 62  FRANK  AND    THE  WILL. 

right  in  spite  of  herself.  Magdalen  thought  all  this  during 
the  moment  she  stood  confronting  Frank,  —  then  reaching 
toward  him  the  soiled  yellow  paper,  she  whispered  hoarsely  : 

"  Take  it,  Frank.  It  is  yours,  all  yours ;  but  oh,  be  merciful 
to  Roger." 

Mechanically  Frank  took  the  paper  from  her,  and  the  nexl 
moment  she  was  on  her  knees  before  him  trying  to  articulate 
something  about  "  Roger,  poor  Roger,"  but  failing  in  the  effort. 
The  sight  of  that  paper  in  Frank's  hands,  and  knowing  that 
with  it  he  held  everything  which  Roger  prized  so  dearly,  took 
sense  and  strength  away,  and  she  fainted  at  his  feet. 

MAGDALEN  HAD  FOUND  THE  WILL  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

FRANK   AND   THE    WILL. 

| RANK  knew  she  had  found  the  will,  but  he  did  not  at 
all  realize  the  effect  which  the  finding  of  it  would  have 
upon  his  future.  He  had  not  read  it  like  Magdalen, 
—  he  did  not  know  that  by  virtue  of  what  was  recorded  there, 
he,  and  not  Roger,  was  the  heir  of  Millbank.  He  only  knew 
that  Magdalen  lay  unconscious  at  his  feet,  her  white  forehead 
touching  his  boot,  and  one  of  her  hands  clutching  at  his  knee 
where  it  had  fallen  when  she  raised  it  imploringly  toward  him, 
with  a  pleading  word  for  Roger.  To  lift  her  in  his  arms  and  bear 
her  to  the  window,  which  he  opened  so  that  the  wind  and  rain 
might  fall  upon  her  face  and  neck,  was  the  work  of  an  instant ; 
and  then,  still  supporting  her  upon  his  shoulder,  he  rubbed  and 
chafed  her  pale  fingers  and  pushed  her  hair  back  from  her  face, 
and  bent  over  her  with  loving,  anxious  words,  which  she  did 
not  hear  and  would  scarcely  have  heeded  if  she  had.  Gradu 
ally  as  the  rain  beat  upon  her  face  she  came  back  to  conscious- 


FRANK  AND    THE  WILL.  163 

ness,  and  with  a  cry  tried  to  free  herself  from  Frank's  embrace. 
But  he  held  her  fast,  while  he  asked  what  was  the  matter, — 
what  had  she  found  or  seen  to  affect  her  so  powerfully  ? 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  Haven't  you  read  it  ?  "  she  gasped ;  and 
F'rank  replied,  "  No,  Magdalen,  I  have  not  read  it.  My  first 
care  was  for  you,  —  always  for  you,  darling." 

She  freed  herself  from  him  then,  and  struggling  to  her  feet 
stood  before  him  with  dilating  nostrils  and  flashing  eyes.  She 
knew  that  the  tone  of  his  voice  meant  love,  —  love  for  her  who 
had  refused  it  once,  —  aye,  who  would  refuse  it  a  thousand  times 
more  now  than  she  had  before.  He  could  not  have  Millbank 
and  her  too.  There  was  no  Will  on  earth  which  had  power 
to  take  her  from  Roger  and  give  her  to  Frank,  and  by  some 
subtle  intuition  Magdalen  recognized  for  a  moment  all  she  was 
to  Roger,  and  felt  that  possibly  he  would  prefer  poverty  with 
her  to  wealth  without  her;  just  as  a  crust  shared  with  him 
would  be  sweeter  to  her  than  the  daintiest  luxury  shared  with 
Frank,  who  had  called  her  his  darling  and  who  would  rival 
Roger  in  everything.  Magdalen  could  have  stamped  her  foot 
in  her  rage  that  Frank  should  presume  to  think  of  love  then 
and  there,  when  he  must  know  what  it  was  she  had  found  for 
him,  —  what  it  was  he  held  in  his  hand.  And  here  she  wronged 
him  ;  for  he  did  not  at  all  realize  his  position,  and  he  looked 
curiously  at  her,  wondering  to  see  her  so  excited. 

"Are  you  angry,  Magdalen?"  he  asked.  "  What  has  hap 
pened  to  affect  you  so  ?  Tell  me.  I  don't  understand  it  at 
all." 

Then  Magdalen  did  stamp  her  foot,  and  coming  close  to 
him,  said,  "  Don't  drive  me  mad  with  your  stupidity,  Frank 
Irving.  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  I  have  found  what  when  a 
child  you  once  asked  me  to  search  for, — you  to  whom  Roger 
was  so  kind,  —  you,  who  would  deal  so  treacherously  with  Roger 
in  his  own  house;  and  I  promised  I  would  do  it,  —  I,  who 
was  ten  times  worse  than  you.  I  was  a  beggar  whom  Rogei 
took  in,  and  I've  wounded  the  hand  that  fed  me.  I  have 
found  the  will ;  but,  Frank  Irving,  if  I  had  guessed  what 


1 64  FRANK  AND    THE  WILL. 

it  contained  I  would  have  plucked  out  both  my  eyes  before 
they  should  have  looked  for  it.  You  deceived  me.  You  said 
it  gave  you  a  part,  —  only  a  part.  You  told  me  false,  and  I 
hate  you  for  it." 

SheAvas  mad  now  with  her  excitement,  which  increased  as  she 
raved  on,  and  she  looked  so  white  and  terrible,  with  the  fire 
flashing  out  in  gleams  from  her  dark  eyes,  that  Frank  involun 
tarily  shrank  back  from  her  at  first,  and  kept  out  of  reach  of 
the  hands  which  made  so  fierce  gestures  toward  him  as  if  they 
would  do  him  harm.  Then  as  he  began  to  recover  himself, 
and  from  her  words  get  some  inkling  of  the  case,  he  drew  her 
gently  to  him,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  Magdalen,  you  wrong  me 
greatly.  Heaven  is  my  witness  that  I  always  meant  to  give 
you  the  same  impression  of  the  will  which  I  received  from  my 
mother,  though  really  and  truly  I  never  had  much  idea  that 
there  was  one,  and  am  as  much  astonished  to  find  there  is  as 
you  can  be.  I  have  not  read  it  yet,  and  I  am  not  responsible 
for  what  there  is  in  it.  I  knew  nothing  of  it,  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it ;  please  don't  blame  me  for  what  I  could  not  help." 

There  was  reason  in  what  he  said,  and  Magdalen  saw  it,  and 
softened  toward  him  as  she  replied,  "Forgive  me,  Frank,  if  in 
my  excitement  I  said  things  wjiich  sounded  harshly,  and  blamed 
you  for  what  you  could  not  help.  But,  oh !  Frank,  I  am  so 
sorry  for  Roger,  poor  Roger.  Say  that  you  won't  wrong  him. 
Be  merciful ;  be  kind  to  him  as  he  has  been  to  you." 

Frank's  perceptions  were  not  very  acute,  but  he  would  have 
been  indeed  a  fool  if  in  what  Magdalen  said  he  had  failed  to 
detect  a  deeper  interest  in  Roger  than  he  had  thought  existed. 
He  did  detect  it,  and  a  fierce  pang  of  jealousy  shot  through  his 
heart  as  he  began  to  see  what  the  obstacle  was  which  stood 
between  himself  and  Magdalen. 

"  I  do  not  understand  why  you  should  be  so  distressed  about 
Roger,  or  beg  of  me  to  be  merciful,"  he  said ;  but  Magdalen 
interrupted  him  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Read  that  paper  and  you  will  know  what  I  mean.     You 


FRANK  AND    THE  WILL.  1 6$ 

will  see  that  it  makes  Roger  a  beggar,  and  gives  you  all  his  for 
tune.  He  has  nothing,  —  nothing  comparatively." 

Frank  understood  her  now.  He  knew  before  that  the  lost 
will  was  found,  and  he  supposed  that  possibly  he  shared  equally 
with  Roger,  but  he  never  dreamed  that  to  him  was  given  all, 
and  to  Roger  nothing ;  and  as  Magdalen  finished  speaking  he 
opened  the  paper  nervously  and  read  it  through,  while  she  sat 
watching  him,  her  eyes  growing  blacker  and  brighter  and  more 
defiant,  as  she  fancied  she  saw  a  half-pleased  expression  flit 
across  his  face  when  he  read  that  he  was  the  lawful  heir  of 
Millbank.  He  had  been  defrauded  of  his  rights  for  years,  had 
murmured  against  his  poverty  and  his  dependence,  and  thought 
hard  things  of  the  old  man  in  his  grave  who  had  left  him  only 
five  thousand  dollars.  But  that  was  over  now.  Poverty  and 
dependence  were  things  of  the  past.  The  old  man  in  his  grave 
had  willed  to  Frank,  his  beloved  grandchild,  all  his  property 
except  a  few  legacies  similar  to  those  in  the  older  will,  and  the 
paltry  sum  left  to  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox  Irving." 
That  was  the  way  it  was  worded,  not  "  My  son  Roger,"  but 
"  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox  Irving."  To  him  was  be 
queathed  the  sum  of  Five  Thousand  dollars,  and  the  farm 
among  the  New  Hampshire  hills  known  as  the  "  Morton " 
place.  That  was  all  Roger's  inheritance,  and  it  is  not  strange 
that  Frank  sat  for  a  moment  speechless.  Had  he  shared 
equally  with  Roger  he  would  not  have  been  surprised ;  but  why 
he  should  have  the  whole  and  Roger  nothing,  he  did  not  un 
derstand.  The  injustice  of  the  thing  struck  him  at  first  quite 
as  forcibly  as  it  did  Magdalen,  and  more  to  himself  than  her, 
he  said,  "  There  must  be  some  mistake.  My  grandfather  would 
never  have  done  this  thing  in  his  right  mind.  Where  did  you 
find  it,  Magdalen  ?  " 

He  did  not  seem  elated,  as  she  feared  he  might.  She  had 
done  him  injustice,  and  with  far  more  toleration  than  she  had 
felt  for  him  at  first,  Magdalen  told  him  where  she  had  found  it 
and  why  she  chanced  to  look  there,  and  pointed  to  the  signa« 
tures  of  Hester  and  Aleck  Floyd  as  witnesses  to  the  will.. 


1 66  FRANK  AND    THE   WILL. 

"Hester  hid  it,"  she  said,  "because  she  knew  it  was  unjust, 
and  it  was  the  fear  of  its  being  found  which  troubled  her  so 
much." 

"That  is  probable,"  Frank  rejoined;  "but  still  I  can  see  no 
reason  for  my  grandfather's  cutting  Roger  off  with  a  mere  pit 
tance.  It  is  cruel.  It  is  unjust." 

"Oh,  Frank,"  Magdalen  cried,  and  the  tears  which  glittered 
in  her  eyes  softened  the  fiery  expression  they  had  worn  a  few 
moments  before.  "  Forgive  me ;  I  was  harsh  towards  you  at 
first,  but  now  I  know  you  mean  to  do  right.  You  will,  Frank. 
You  certainly  will  do  right." 

Magdalen  had  recovered  her  powers  of  speech  and  she  talked 
rapidly,  begging  Frank  to  be  generous  with  Roger,  to  leave 
him  Millbank,  to  let  him  stay  in  the  beautiful  home  he  loved 
so  much.  "  Think  of  all  he  has  done  for  you,"  she  said,  clasp 
ing  her  hands  upon  his  arm  and  looking  at  him  with  eyes  from 
which  the  tears  were  dropping  fast.  "  Were  you  his  son  he 
could  hardly  have  done  more  ;  and  he  has  been  so  kind  to  me, 
—  me  who  have  requited  his  kindness  so  cruelly.  Oh,  Roger, 
Roger,  I  would  give  my  life  to  spare  him  this  blow  ! " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  while  Frank  sat  regard 
ing  her  intently,  his  affection  for  her  at  that  moment  mastering 
every  other  emotion  and  making  him  indifferent  to  the  great 
fortune  which  had  so  suddenly  come  to  him.  Love  for  Mag 
dalen  was  the  strongest  sentiment  of  which  he  was  capable,  and 
it  was  intensified  with  the  suspicion  that  Roger  was  preferred 
to  himself.  He  could  interpret  her  distress  and  concern  for 
his  uncle  in  no  other  way.  Gratitude  alone  could  never  have 
affected  her  as  she  was  affected,  and  Frank's  heart  throbbed 
with  jealousy  and  fear  and  intense  desire  to  secure  Magdalen 
for  himself.  There  had  been  a  momentary  feeling  of  exultation 
when  he  thought  of  his  poverty  as  a  thing  of  the  past,  but  Mag 
dalen's  love  was  worth  more  to  him  than  a  dozen  Millbanks, 
and  in  his  excitement  no  sacrifice  seemed  too  great  which  would 
secure  it. 

"  Oh,  Roger,  Roger,  I  would  give  my  life  to  spare  him  this 


FRANK  AND    THE   WILL.  1 67 

blow  !  "  Magdalen  had  cried  ;  and  with  these  words  still  ringing 
in  his  ears,  Frank  said  to  her  at  last,  "  Magdalen,  you  need  not 
give  your  life  ;  there  is  a  far  easier  way  by  which  Roger  can  be 
spared  the  pain  of  knowing  that  Millbank  is  not  his.  He  never 
need  to  know  of  this  will ;  no  one  need  to  know  of  it  but  our 
selves,  —  you  and  me,  Magdalen.  We  will  keep  the  secret  to 
gether,  shall  we  ?  " 

Magdalen  had  lifted  up  her  head,  and  was  listening  to  him 
with  an  eager,  wistful  expression  in  her  face,  which  encouraged 
him  to  go  on. 

"  But,  Magdalen,  my  silence  must  have  its  price,  and  that 
price  is  yourself  !" 

She  started  from  him  then  as  if  he  had  stung  her,  but  soon 
resumed  her  former  attitude,  and  listened  while  he  continued  : 

"  I  asked  you  once,  and  you  refused  me,  and  I  meant  to  try 
and  abide  by  your  decision,  but  I  cannot  give  you  up ;  and 
when  I  found  that  Roger  favored  my  suit  and  would  be  glad  if 
you  could  give  me  a  favorable  answer,  I  resolved  to  try  again, 
and  came  home  this  very  afternoon  with  that  object  in  view." 

Frank  stopped  abruptly,  struck  with  the  look  of  anguish 
and  pain  and  surprise  which  crept  into  Magdalen's  eyes  as  he 
spoke  of  "  Roger's  favoring  his  suit." 

"  Roger  consent ;  oh  no,  not  that.  Roger  never  wished 
that,"  Magdalen  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  full  of  bitter  disappoint 
ment.  "  Did  Roger  wish  it,  Frank  ?  Did  he  say  so,  sure  ?  " 

Few  men,  seeing  Magdalen  moved  as  she  was  then,  would 
have  urged  their  own  claims  upon  her ;  but  Frank  was  different 
from  most  men.  He  had  set  his  hopes  on  Magdalen,  and  he 
must  win  her,  and  the  more  obstacles  he  found  in  his  way  the 
more  he  was  resolved  to  succeed.  He  would  not  see  the  love 
for  Roger  which  was  so  apparent  in  all  Magdalen  said  and  did. 
He  would  ignore  that  altogether,  and  he  replied,  "Most  cer 
tainly  he  wishes  it,  or  he  would  not  have  given  his  consent  for 
me  to  speak  to  you  again.  I  talked  with  him  about  it  the  last 
thing  this  morning  before  he  started  for  New  York.  Did  I  tell 
you  he  had  gone  there  ?  He  has,  and  expects  it  to  be  settled 


168  FRANK  AND    THE   WILL. 

before  h:s  return.  I  am  well  aware  that  this  is  not  the  time  01 
place  for  love-making,  but  your  great  desire  to  spare  Roger  from 
a  knowledge  of  the  will  wrung  from  me  what  otherwise  I  would 
have  said  at  another  time.  Magdalen,  I  have  always  loved  you, 
fiom  the  morning  I  put  you  in  your  candle-box  and  knelt  be 
fore  you  as  my  princess.  You  were  the  sweetest  baby  I  ever 
saw.  You  have  ripened  into  the  loveliest  woman,  and  I  want 
you  fur  my  wife.  I  have  wanted  money  badly,  but  now  that 
]  have  it,  I  will  gladly  give  it  all  for  you.  Only  say  that  you 
will  be  mine,  and  I'll  burn  this  paper  before  your  eyes,  and 
swear  to  you  solemnly  that  not  a  word  regarding  it  shall  ever 
pass  my  lips.  Shall  I  do  it?" 

Magdalen  was  not  looking  at  him  now.  When  he  assured 
her  of  Roger's  consent  to  woo  her  for  himself,  and  that  he 
"expected  it  to  be  settled  before  his  return,"  she  had  turned  her 
face  away  to  hide  the  bitter  pain  she  knew  was  written  upon  it. 
She  had  been  terribly  mistaken.  She  had  believed  that  Roger 
cared  for  her,  and  the  knowing  that  he  did  not,  that  he  could 
even  give  his  consent  for  her  to  marry  Frank,  was  more  than 
she  could  bear,  and  she  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  every  ray  of 
happiness  had,  within  the  last  hour,  been  stricken  from  her  life. 

"  Shall  I  do  it  ?  only  speak  the  word,  and  eveiy  trace  of  the 
will  shall  be  destroyed." 

That  was  what  Frank  said  to  her  a  second  time,  and  then 
Magdalen  turned  slowly  toward  him,  but  made  him  no  reply. 
She  scarcely  realized  what  he  was  asking,  or  what  he  meant 
to  do,  as  he  took  a  match  from  his  pocket  and  struck  it 
across  the  floor.  Gradually  a  ring  of  smoke  came  curling  up 
and  floated  toward  Magdalen,  who  sat  like  a  stone  gazing  fix 
edly  at  the  burning  match,  which  Frank  held  near  to  the  paper. 

"  Tell  me,  Magdalen,  will  you  be  my  wife,  if  I  burn  the 
will  ? "  he  asked  again  ;  and  then  Magdalen  answered  him, 
"  Oh,  Frank,  don't  tempt  me  thus.  How  can  I  ?  Oh,  Roger, 
Roger ! " 

She  was  beginning  to  waver,  and  Frank  saw  it,  and  too  much 
excited  hinasulf  to  know  what  he  was  doing,  held  the  match  so 


FRANK  AND    THE   WILL.  169 

near  the  paper  that  it  began  to  scorch,  and  in  a  moment  more 
would  have  been  in  a  blaze.  Then  Magdalen  came  to  herself, 
and  struck  the  match  from  Frank's  hand,  and  snatching  the 
paper  from  him,  said,  vehemently,  "  You  must  not  do  it. 
Roger  would  not  suffer  it,  if  he  knew.  Roger  is  honorable, 
Roger  is  just.  /  found  the  paper,  Frank.  /  will  carry  it  to 
Roger,  and  tell  him  it  was  I  who  ruined  him.  I  will  beg  for 
his  forgiveness,  and  then  go  away  and  die,  so  I  cannot  witness 
his  fall." 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  was  leaving  the  garret,  but 
Frank  held  her  back.  He  could  not  part  with  her  thus ;  he 
could  not  risk  the  probable  consequences  of  her  going  to 
Roger,  as  she  had  said  she  would.  But  one  result  could  follow 
such  a  step,  and  that  result  was  death  to  all  Frank  most  de 
sired.  Millbank  weighed  as  nothing  when  compared  with  Mag 
dalen,  and  Frank  made  her  listen  to  him  again,  and  worked 
upon  her  pity  for  Roger  until,  worried  and  bewildered,  and 
half- crazed  with  excitement,  she  cried  out,  "I'll  think  about 
it,  Frank.  I  will  love  you,  if  I  can.  Give  me  a  week  in 
which  to  decide ;  but  let  me  go  now,  or  I  shall  surely  die." 

She  tore  herself  from  him,  and  was  hurrying  down  the  stairs 
with  the  will  grasped  in  her  hands,  when  suddenly  she  stopped, 
and,  offering  it  to  Frank,  said  to  him,  "  Put  it  under  the  floor 
where  I  found  it.  Let  it  stay  there  till  the  week  is  up." 

There  was  hope  in  what  she  said,  and  Frank  hastened  to  do 
her  bidding,  and  then  went  softly  down  the  stairs,  and  passed 
unobserved  through  the  hall  out  into  the  rain,  which  seemed  so 
grateful  to  him  after  his  recent  excitement.  He  did  not  care 
to  meet  his  mother  just  then,  and  so  he  quietly  left  the  house, 
and  walked  rapidly  down  the  avenue  toward  the  village,  intend 
ing  to  strike  into  the  fields  and  go  back  to  Millbank  at  the 
usual  dinner-hour,  so  as  to  excite  no  suspicions. 

To  say  that  Frank  felt  no  elation  at  the  thought  of  Millbank 
belonging  to  him,  would  be  wrong ;  for,  as  he  walked  along, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  new  and  pleasant  feeling  of  importance, 
8 


I/O  FRANK  AND    THE   WILL. 

mingled  with  a  feeling  that  he  was  very  magnanimous,  too,  and 
was  doing  what  few  men  in  his  position  would  have  done. 

"  All  mine,  if  I  choose  to  claim  it,"  he  said  to  himself  once, 
as  he  paused  on  a  little  knoll  and  looked  over  the  broad  acres 
of  the  Irving  estate,  which  stretched  far  back  from  the  river 
toward  the  eastern  hills.  "  All  mine,  if  I  choose  to  have  it  so." 

Then  he  looked  away  to  the  huge  mill  upon  the  river,  the 
shoe-shop  farther  on,  and  thought  of  the  immense  revenue  they 
yielded,  and  then  his  eye  came  back  to  Millbank  proper,  —  the 
handsome  house,  embowered  in  trees,  with  its  velvety  lawn  and 
spacious  grounds,  and  its  ease  and  luxury  within.  "All  his," 
unless  he  chose  to  throw  it  away  for  a  girl,  who  did  not  love 
him,  and  who,  he  believed,  preferred  Roger  and  poverty  and 
toil,  to  luxury  and  Millbank  and  himself.  Had  he  believed 
otherwise,  had  no  suspicion  of  her  preference  for  Roger  entered 
his  mind,  he  might  have  hesitated  a  moment  ere  deciding  to 
give  up  the  princely  fortune  which  had  come  so  suddenly  to 
him.  But  the  fact  that  she  was  hard  to  win  only  enhanced  her 
value,  and  he  resolutely  shut  his  eyes  to  the  sacrifice  he  was 
making  for  her  sake,  and  thought  instead  how  he  would  work 
for  her,  deny  himself  for  her,  and  become  all  that  her  husband 
ought  to  be. 

"  She  shall  love  me  better  than  she  loves  Roger.  She  shall 
never  regret  her  choice  if  she  decides  for  me,"  he  said,  as  he 
went  back  to  the  house,  which  he  reached  just  as  dinner  was 
announced. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  not  seen  him  when  he  first  came  home 
in  the  afternoon,  but  she  saw  him  leave  the  house  and  hurry 
down  the  avenue,  while  something  in  his  manner  indicated  an 
unusual  degree  of  perturbation  and  excitement.  A  few  mo 
ments  later  she  found  Magdalen  in  her  own  room,  lying  upon 
the  sofa,  her  face  as  white  as  marble,  and  her  eyes  wearing 
so  scared  a  look  that  she  was  greatly  alarmed,  and  asked  what 
was  the  matter. 

"  A  headache ;  it  came  on  suddenly,"  Magdalen  said,  while 
her  lip  quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  ran  down 


FRANK  AND    THE   WILL.  Ijl 

her  cheeks  in  torrents,  as  Mrs.  Irving  bent  to  kiss  her,  smooth 
ing  her  forehead  and  saying  to  her,  "  Poor  child,  you  look  as  if 
you  were  suffering  so  much.  I  wish  I  could  help  you.  Cau 
I?" 

"  No,  nobody  can  help  me,  —  nobody.  Oh,  is  it  a  sin  to  wish 
I  had  never  been  born?"  was  Magdalen's  reply,  which  con 
firmed  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  in  her  suspicion  that  Frank  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  her  distress. 

Frank  had  spoken  again  and  been  refused,  and  they  might  lose 
the  hundred  thousand  after  all.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  could  not 
afford  to  lose  it.  She  had  formed  too  many  plans  which  were 
all  depending  upon  it  to  see  it  pass  from  her  without  an  effort 
to  keep  it,  and  bringing  a  little  stool  to  Magdalen's  side,  she 
sat  down  by  her  and  began  to  caress,  and  pity,  and  soothe  her, 
and  at  last  said  to  her,  "  Excuse  me,  darling,  but  I  am  almost 
certain  that  Frank  has  had  more  or  less  to  do  with  your  head 
ache.  I  know  he  has  been  here  ;  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

Magdalen  made  no  reply,  only  her  tears  fell  faster,  and  she 
turned  her  face  away  from  the  lady,  who  continued,  in  her 
softest,  kindest  manner,  "  My  poor  boy,  I  know  all  about  it ; 
can't  you  love  him  ?  Try,  darling,  for  my  sake  as  well  as  his. 
We  could  be  so  happy  together.  Tell  me  what  you  said  to 
him." 

"  No,  no,  not  now.  Please  don't  talk  to  me  now.  I  am  so 
miserable,"  was  Magdalen's  reply,  and  with  that  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  was  obliged  to  be  content,  until  she  found  herself  alone 
with  her  son  at  the  dinner  table. 

Dismissing  the  servant  the  moment  dessert  was  brought  in, 
she  asked  him  abruptly  "  what  had  transpired  between  him 
and  Magdalen  to  affect  her  so  strangely." 

Frank's  face  was  very  pale,  and  he  betrayed  a  good  deal  of 
agitation  as  he  asked  in  turn  what  Magdalen  herself  had  said. 

He  had  a  kind  of  intuition  that  if  his  mother  knew  of  the 
will,  no  power  on  earth  could  keep  her  quiet.  He  believed 
she  liked  Magdalen,  but  he  knew  she  liked  money  better ;  and 
he  was  alarmed  lest  she  should  discover  his  secret,  and  be  the 


1/2  MRS.    WALTER  SCOTT  AND    THE   WILL. 

instrument  of  his  losing  what  seemed  more  and  more  desirabk 
as  one  obstacle  after  another  was  thrown  in  his  ivay. 

Mrs.  Irving  repeated  all  that  had  passed  beiween  herself  and 
Magdalen,  and  then  Frank  breathed  more  freely,  and  told  on 
his  part  what  he  thought  necessary  to  tell. 

"  Magdalen  had  been  a  good  deal  excited,"  he  said,  "  and 
had  asked  for  a  week  in  which  to  consider  the  matter,  and  he 
had  granted  it.  And  mother,"  he  added,  "  please  let  her  alone, 
and  not  bother  her  with  questions,  and  don't  mention  me  to 
her  above  all  things.  'Twill  spoil  everything." 

Frank  had  finished  his  pudding  by  this  time,  and  without 
waiting  for  his  mother's  answer  he  left  the  dining  room  and 
went  at  once  to  his  own  chamber,  where  he  passed  the  entire 
evening,  thinking  of  the  strange  discovery  which  had  been 
made,  wondering  what  Magdalen's  final  decision  would  be,  and 
occasionally  sending  a  feeling  of  longing  and  regret  after  the 
fortune  he  was  giving  up. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MRS.    WALTER  SCOTT  AND   THE   WILL. 

IJOGER  came  from  New  York  the  next  evening.  He 
could  not  stay  from  Millbank  any  longer.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  face  the  inevitable.  He  would 
make  the  best  of  it  if  Magdalen  accepted  Frank,  and  if  she  did 
not,  he  would  speak  for  himself  at  once.  Roger  was  naturally 
hopeful,  and  something  told  him  that  his  chance  was  not  lost 
forever,  that  Frank  was  not  so  sure  of  Magdalen.  He  could 
not  believe  that  he  had  been  so  deceived  or  had  misconstrued 
her  kind  graciousness  of  manner  toward  himself.  A  thousand 
little  acts  of  hers  came  back  to  his  mind  and  confirmed  him  in 
the  belief  that  unless  she  was  a  most  consummate  coquette,  he 


MRS.   WALTER  SCOTT  AND    THE   WILL.  1/3 

was  not  indifferent  to  her.  On  reaching  Belvidere, .  he  went 
straight  to  Millbank  without  stopping  at  the  office.  He  was 
impatient  to  see  Magdalen,  but  she  was  not  on  the  steps  to 
meet  him  as  was  her  custom  when  he  returned  from  New  York 
or  Boston,  and  only  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  bland  voice  greeted 
him  as  he  came  in. 

"  Magdalen  was  sick  with  one  of  her  neuralgic  headaches," 
she  said,  "  and  had  not  left  her  room  that  day." 

Roger  would  not  ask  her  if  it  was  settled.  He  would  rather 
put  that  question  to  Frank,  who  soon  came  in  and  inquired 
anxiously  for  Magdalen.  A  person  less  observing  than  Roger 
could  not.  have  failed  to  see  that  the  Frank  of  to-day  was  not 
the  same  as  the  Frank  of  yesterday.  He  did  not  mean  to  ap 
pear  differently,  but  he  could  not  divest  himself  wholly  of  the 
feeling  that  by  every  lawful  right  he  was  master  where  he  had 
been  so  long  a  dependent,  and  there  was  in  his  manner  an  air 
of  assurance  and  independence,  and  even  of  patronage,  toward 
Roger,  who  attributed  it  wholly  to  the  wrong  source,  and  when 
his  sister  left  the  room  for  a  moment,  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I 
am  to  congratulate  you,  of  course  ?  " 

Frank  wanted  to  say  yes,  but  the  lie  was  hard  to  utter,  and 
he  answered,  "  I  think  so.  She  wishes  time  to  consider.  Girls 
always  do,  I  believe." 

Roger  knew  little  of  girls,  he  said,  and  he  tried  to  smile  and 
appear  natural,  and  asked  who  had  called  at  the  office  during 
his  absence,  and  if  his  insurance  agent  had  been  to  see  about 
the  mill  and  the  shoe-shop. 

Frank  answered  all  his  questions,  and  made  some  suggestions 
of  his  own  to  the  effect  that  if  he  were  Roger  he  would  insure 
in  another  company,  and  do  various  other  things  differently. 

"  I  am  something  of  an  old  fogy,  I  reckon,  and  prefer  fol 
lowing  in  my  father's  safe  track,"  Roger  said,  with  a  laugh,  and 
then  the  conversation  ceased  and  the  two  men  separated. 

Magdalen's  headache  did  not  seem  to  abate,  and  for  several 
days  she  kept  her  room,  refusing  to  see  any  one  but  Hester 
and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  vied  with  each  other  in  their  at« 


174          MRS.    WALTER  SCOTT  AND    THE    WILL, 

tentions  to  her.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  a  good  deal  of  tet.dei 
nursing  during  those  few  days,  and  called  Magdalen  by  every 
pet  name  there  was  in  her  vocabulary,  and  kissed  her  at  least 
a  dozen  times  an  hour,  and  carried  messages  which  she  never 
sent  to  Frank,  who  was  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  not  only 
with  regard  to  Magdalen,  but  also  the  Will,  thoughts  of  which 
drove  him  nearly  frantic.  Every  day  of  his  life  he  mounted 
the  garret  stairs,  and  groping  his  way  to  the  loose  plank,  went 
down  on  his  knees  to  see  that  it  was  safe.  The  Will  had  a 
wonderful  fascination  for  him  ;  he  could  not  keep  away  from  it, 
and  one  morning  he  took  it  from  the  box,  and  carrying  it  to 
the  window,  sat  down  to  read  it  again,  and  see  if  it  really  did 
give  everything  to  him.  For  the  first  time  then  he  noticed 
the  expression,  "To  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox  Ir 
ving." 

It  was  a  very  singular  way  to  speak  of  one's  child,  he 
thought,  and  he  wondered  what  it  could  mean,  and  why  his 
grandfather  had,  at  the  very  last,  made  so  unjust  a  will;  and  he 
became  so  absorbed  in  thought  as  not  to  hear  the  steps  on  the 
stairs,  or  see  the  woman  who  came  softly  to  his  side  and  stood 
looking  over  his  shoulder. 

Magdalen  had,  at  last,  asked  to  see  Frank.  She  had  made 
up  her  mind,  and  insisted  upon  being  dressed,  and  meeting  him 
in  her  little  sitting-room,  which  opened  from  her  chamber. 

"  Do  you  feel  quite  equal  to  the  task  ?  "  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
had  said,  kissing  and  caressing  the  poor  girl,  whose  face  was 
deathly  pale,  save  where  the  fever  spots  burned  upon  her 
cheeks.  "  You  don't  know  how  beautiful  you  look,"  she  con 
tinued,  as  she  wrapped  the  shawl  around  Magdalen,  and  then, 
with  another  kiss,  went  in  quest  of  Frank. 

No  one  had  seen  him  except  Celine,  who  remembered  hav 
ing  met  him  in  the  little  passage  leading  to  the  garret  stairs. 

"  He  was  there  yesterday  and  the  day  before,"  she  said,  and 
then  passed  on,  never  dreaming  of  all  which  was  to  follow  those 
few  apparently  unimportant  words. 

"That  is  a  strange  place  for  Frank  to  visit  every  day,"  Mrs. 


MRS.    WALTER  SCOTT  AND    THE    WILL.  1/5 

Walter  Scott  thought,  and,  curious  to  know  why  he  was  there, 
she,  too,  started  for  the  garret.  She  always  stepped  lightly, 
and  her  soft  French  slippers  scarcely  made  a  sound  as  she  went 
up  the  stairs.  Frank's  back  was  toward  her,  and  she  ad 
vanced  so  cautiously  that  she  stood  close  behind  him  before  he 
was  aware  of  her  presence.  She  saw  the  soiled  paper  he  held 
in  his  hand,  read  a  few  words,  and  then  uttered  a  cry  of  exulta 
tion,  which  started  Frank  to  his  feet,  where  he  stood  confront 
ing  her,  his  face  as  white  as  marble,  and  his  eyes  blazing  with 
excitement.  His  mother  was  scarcely  less  pale  than  himself, 
and  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  with  an  unflinching  gaze. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  and  in  that  single  interjection  was  em 
bodied  all  the  cruel  exultation  and  delight  and  utter  disregard 
for  Roger,  and  defiance  of  the  world,  which  the  cold,  hard  wo 
man  felt. 

Anon  there  broke  about  her  mouth  a  peculiar  kind  of  smile, 
which  showed  her  glittering  teeth,  and  made  Frank  draw  back 
from  her  a  step  or  two,  while  he  held  the  paper  closer  in  his 
hand,  and  farther  away  from  her.  She  saw  the  motion,  and 
there  was  something  menacing  in  her  attitude  as  she  went  close 
to  him,  and  whispered, — 

"I  was  right,  after  all.  There  was  another  Will,  which 
somebody  hid.  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  " 

"  Magdalen  found  it,"  Frank  involuntarily  rejoined,  mentally 
cursing  himself  for  his  stupidity  when  it  was  too  late. 

"Magdalen  found  it  ?  And  is  that  what  ails  her  ?  Let  me 
see  it,  please." 

For  a  moment  Frank  was  tempted  to  refuse  her  request,  but 
something  in  her  face  compelled  him  to  unfold  the  paper  and 
hold  it  while  she  read  it  through. 

"  Why,  Frank,  it  gives  you  everything"  she  exclaimed,  with 
joy  thrilling  in  every  tone,  as  she  clutched  his  arm,  and  looked 
into  his  face.  "  I  never  supposed  it  quite  as  good  as  this." 

"  Mother,"  Frank  said,  drawing  back  from  her  again,  "  are 
you  a  fiend  to  exult  so  over  Roger's  ruin  ?  Don't  you  see  it 
gives  him  a  mere  nothing,  and  he  the  only  son  ?  " 


1/6  MRS.    WALTER  SCOTT  AND    THE    WILL, 

All  the  manhood  of  Frank's  nature  was  roused  by  his 
mother's  manner,  and  he  was  tempted  for  a  moment  to  tear 
the  will  in  shreds,  and  thus  prevent  the  storm  which  he  felt  wa<? 
rising  over  Millbank. 

"  There  may  be  a  doubt  about  the  'only  son,'  "  Mrs.  Wal 
ter  Scott  replied.  "  A  father  does  not  often  deal  thus  with  his 
only  surviving  son.  What  do  you  imagine  that  means  ?  "  and 
she  pointed  to  the  words,  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox 
Irving." 

Frank  knew  then  what  it  meant ;  knew  that  in  some  way  a 
doubt  as  to  Roger's  birth  had  been  lodged  in  his  grandfather's 
mind,  but  it  found  no  answering  chord  in  his  breast. 

"  Never  will  I  believe  that  of  Roger's  mother.  He  is  more 
an  Irving  than  I  am,  everybody  says.  Shame  on  you  for  cred 
iting  the  story,  even  for  a  moment,  and  my  curse  on  the  one 
who  put  that  thought  in  the  old  man's  heart,  for  it  was  put 
there  by  somebody." 

He  was  cursing  her  to  her  face,  and  he  was  going  on  to  say 
still  more  when  she  laid  her  hand  over  his  mouth,  and  said,  — 

"Stop,  my  son.  You  don't  know  whom  you  are  cursing, 
nor  any  of  the  circumstances.  You  are  no  judge  of  Jessie 
Morton's  conduct.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  condemn  her  now 
that  she  is  dead.  She  was  a  silly  girl,  easily  influenced,  and 
never  loved  your  grandfather,  who  was  three  times  her  age. 
We  read  that  the  parents'  sin  shall  be  visited  upon  the  children , 
and  if  she  sinned,  her  child  has  surely  reaped  the  conse 
quences,  or  will  when  this  Will  is  proved.  Poor  Roger !  I,  too, 
am  sorry  for  him,  and  disposed  to  be  lenient ;  but  he  cannot 
expect  us  to  let  things  go  on  as  they  have  done  now  that  every 
thing  is  reversed.  How  did  Magdalen  happen  to  find  it  ?  " 

She  was  talking  very  gently  now,  by  way  of  quieting  Frank, 
who  told  her  briefly  what  he  knew  of  the  finding  of  the  Will, 
and  then,  little  by  little  as  she  adroitly  questioned  him,  he  let 
out  the  particulars  of  his  interview  with  Magdalen,  and  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  knew  the  secret  of  Magdalen's  distress.  Her  face 
was  turned  away  from  Frank,  who  did  not  see  the  cold,  remorse- 


MRS.    WALTER  SCOTT  AND    THE    WILL.  IJJ 

less  expression  which  settled  upon  it,  as  she  thought  of  Mag 
dalen's  pitting  herself  against  the  Millbank  fortune.  Magdalen's 
value  was  decreasing  fast.  The  master  of  Millbank  could  surely 
find  a  wife  more  worthy  of  him  than  the  beggar  girl  who  had 
been  deserted  in  the  cars,  and  that  Magdalen  Lennox  should  not 
marry  her  son  was  the  decision  she  reached  at  a  Abound,  and 
Frank  must  have  suspected  the  nature  of  her  thoughts,  as  she 
sat  nervously  tapping  her  foot  upon  the  floor,  and  looking  off 
through  the  window,  with  great  wrinkles  in  her  forehead  and 
between  her  eyes. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  and  there  was  something  pleading  as  well 
as  reproachful  in  his  voice,  "  I  did  not  mean  that  you  should 
know  of  this,  and  now  that  you  do,  I  must  beg  of  you  to  keep 
your  knowledge  to  yourself.  I  shall  lose  Magdalen  if  you  do 
not,  and  I  care  more  for  her  than  a  hundred  fortunes." 

His  mother  turned  fully  toward  him  now  and  said,  sneer- 
ingly,  "  A  disinterested  lover,  truly.  Perhaps  when  you  promised 
to  destroy  the  Will  you  forgot  the  hundred  thousand  which,  if 
Roger  remained  master  here,  would  come  to  you  with  Magdalen, 
and  you  made  yourself  believe  that  you  were  doing  a  very  un 
selfish  and  romantic  thing  in  preferring  Magdalen  and  poverty  to 
Millbank." 

"  Mother,"  Frank  cried,  "  I  swear  to  you  that  a  thought  of 
that  hundred  thousand  never  crossed  my  mind  until  this  mo 
ment.  My  love  for  Magdalen  is  strong  enough  to  brave  pov 
erty  in  any  form  for  her  sake." 

"And  you  really  mean  to  marry  her?" 

She  put  the  question  so  coolly  that  Frank  gazed  at  her  in 
astonishment,  wondering  what  she  meant. 

Of  course  he  meant  to  marry  her  if  she  would  take  him ;  he 
would  prefer  her  to  a  thousand  Millbanks.  "  And  mother,"  he 
idded,  "  you  shall  not  tell  her  thatyvu  know  of  the  Will  until 
after  to-morrow.  She  is  to  give  me  her  answer  then.  Promise, 
or  I  will  destroy  this  cursed  paper  before  your  very  eyes." 

He  made  a  motion  as  if  he  would  tear  it  in  pieces,  when, 


1/8  ROGER  AND    THE    WILL. 

with  a.  sudden  gesture,  his  mother  caught  it  from  him  and  held 
it  fast  in  her  own  hands. 

"  The  Will  is  not  safe  with  you,"  she  said.  "  I  will  keep  it 
for  you.  I  shall  not  trouble  Magdalen,  but  I  shall  go  at  once 
to  Roger.  I  cannot  see  you  throw  away  wealth,  and  ease,  and 
position  for  a  bit  of  sentiment  with  regard  to  a  girl  whose  par 
entage  is  doubtful,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  who  can  bring  you 
nothing  but  a  pretty  face." 

She  had  put  the  Will  in  her  pocket.  There  was  no  way  of 
getting  it  from  her,  except  by  force,  and  Frank  saw  her  depart 
without  a  word,  and  knew  she  was  going  to  Roger.  Suddenly 
it  occurred  to  him  that  Roger  might  not  have  left  the  office  yet, 
and  he  started  up,  exclaiming,  "  I  am  the  one  to  tell  him  first, 
if  he  must  know.  I  can  break  it  to  him  easier  than  mother. 
I  shall  not  be  hard  on  Roger." 

Thus  thinking,  Frank  started  swiftly  across  the  fields  in  the 
direction  of  Roger's  office,  hoping  either  to  meet  him,  or  to  find 
him  there,  and  trying  to  decide  how  he  should  break  the  news 
so  as  to  wound  his  uncle  as  little  as  possible,  and  make  him 
understand  that  he  was  not  in  fault. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ROGER   AND   THE   WILL. 

JHE  office  was  closed,  the  shutters  down,  and  Roger 
gone.  Frank  had  come  too  late,  and  he  swiftly  re 
traced  his  steps  homeward,  hoping  still  to  be  in  time 
to  tell  the  news  before  his  mother.  But  his  hopes  were  vain. 
Roger  had  entered  the  house  while  Frank  was  in  the  garret, 
and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  heard  him  in  his  room  as  she  passed 
through  the  hall  after  her  interview  with  her  son.  But  she  was 
too  much  agitated  and  too  flurried  to  speak  to  him  just  then. 


ROGER  AND    THE    WILL.  1 79 

She  must  compose  herself  a  little,  and  utterly  forgetful  of  Mag* 
dalen,  who  was  waiting  for  Frank,  and  growing  impatient  at  his 
delay,  she  went  to  her  own  room  and  read  the  Will  again  to 
make  sure  that  all  was  right  and  Frank  the  lawful  heir.  She 
could  not  realize  it,  it  had  come  so  suddenly  upon  her ;  but  she 
knew  that  it  was  so,  and  she  bore  herself  like  a  queen  when 
she  at  last  arose,  and  started  for  Roger's  room.  It  was  the  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  of  former  days  resurrected  and  intensified  who 
swept  so  proudly  through  the  hall,  just  inclining  her  head  to  the 
servant  whom  she  met,  and  thinking,  as  she  had  once  thought 
before,  how  she  would  dismiss  the  entire  household  and  set  up 
a  new  government  of  her  own.  There  had  been  some  uncer 
tainty  attending  the  future  when  she  made  this  decision  before, 
but  now  there  was  none.  She  held  the  document  which  made 
her  safe  in  her  possessions ;  she  was  the  lady  of  Millbank,  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  assurance  in  the  knock,  to  which  Roger 
responded  "  Come  in." 

He  was  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  looking  pale  and  worn  just 
as  he  had  looked  ever  since  his  return  from  New  York.  Beside 
him  in  a  vase  upon  the  table  was  a  bouquet,  which  he  had  ar 
ranged  for  Magdalen,  intending  to  send  it  to  her  with  her  dinner. 
And  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  saw  it  and  guessed  what  it  was  for,  and 
there  flashed  into  her  mind  a  thought  that  she  would  make  mat 
ters  right  between  Roger  and  Magdalen  ;  she  would  help  them 
to  each  other,  and  save  Frank  from  the  possibility  of  a  mesal 
liance.  But  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  a  very  cautious  woman ; 
she  always  kept  something  in  reserve  in  case  one  plau  should 
fail,  and  now  there  came  a  thought  that  possibly  Roger  might 
contest  the  Will  and  win,  and  if  he  did,  it  might  be  well  to  re 
consider  Magdalen  and  her  hundred  thousand  dollars,  so  she 
concluded  that  for  the  present  it  would  be  better  not  to  throw 
Magdalen  overboard.  That  could  be  done  hereafter,  if  neces 
sary. 

She  was  very  gracious  to  Roger,  and  took  the  seat  he  offered 
her,  and  played  with  her  watch-chain,  wondering  how  she  should 
begin.  It  was  harder  than  she  had  anticipated, — telling  a 


I  SO  ROGER  AND   THE    WILL. 

man  like  Roger  that  all  he  had  thought  his,  belonged  to  an* 
other-;  and  she  hesitated,  and  grew  cold  and  hot  and  withal  a 
little  afraid  of  Roger,  who  was  beginning  to  wonder  why  she  was 
there,  and  what  she  wanted  to  say. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Helen  ?  "  he  asked,  just  as  he 
had  once  before,  when  she  came  on  an  errand  which  had  caused 
him  so  much  pain. 

Then  she  had  come  to  tear  Magdalen  from  him ;  now  she  was 
there  to  take  his  fortune,  his  birthright  away ;  and  it  is  not  strange 
that,  cruel  as  she  was,  she  hesitated  how  to  begin. 

"  Roger,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  his  question,  "  I  am  here  on  a 
most  unpleasant  errand,  but  one  which,  as  a  mother  whose 
first  duty  is  to  her  son,  I  must  perform.  You  remember  the 
WILL  which  at  your  father's  death  could  not  be  found." 

She  was  taking  it  from  her  pocket,  and  Roger,  who  was  quick 
of  comprehension,  knew  before  she  laid  the  worn  paper  upon 
the  table,  that  the  lost  Will  was  found !  With  trembling  haste 
he  snatched  it  up,  and  she  made  no  effort  to  restrain  him.  She 
had  faith  in  the  man  she  was  ruining.  She  knew  the  Will  was 
safe  in  his  hands ;  he  would  neither  destroy  nor  deface  it.  He 
would  give  it  its  due  consideration,  and  she  sat  watching  him 
while  he  read  it  through,  and  pitying  him,  it  must  be  confessed, 
with  all  the  little  womanly  feeling  she  had  left.  She  would  have 
been  a  stone  not  to  have  pitied  one  whose  lips  uttered  no  sound 
as  he  read,  but  quivered  and  trembled,  and  grew  so  bloodless 
and  thin,  while  his  face  dripped  with  the  perspiration  which 
started  from  every  pore  and  rolled  down  his  chin  in  drops.  She 
thought  at  first  they  were  tears,  but  when  he  lifted  his  eyes  to 
hers  as  he  finished  reading,  she  saw  that  they  were  dry,  but  oh, 
so  full  of  pain  and  anguish  and  surprise,  and  wounded  love  and 
grief,  that  his  father  should  have  disinherited  him  for  such  a 
cause.  He  knew  what  the  clause  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger 
Lennox  Irving"  implied,  and  that  hurt  him  more  than  all  the 
rest. 

Why  had  his  father  believed  such  a  thing  of  his  mother,  and 
who  had  told  him  the  shameful  story  ?  Leaning  across  the 


ROGER  AND   THE    WILL.  iSl 

table  to  his  sister  he  pointed  to  the  clause,  and  moving  hi» 
finger  slowly  under  each  word,  said  to  her  in  a  voice  she  would 
never  have  recognized  as  his,  "Helen,  who  poisoned  my 
father's  mind  with  that  tale  ?  " 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  know  of  the  letter  in  Magdalen's 
possession,  or  how  much  Hester  Floyd  had  overheard  years 
before,  when,  with  lying  tongue,  she  had  hinted  things  she 
knew  could  not  be  true,  and  made  the  old  man  mad  with 
jealousy.  She  did  not  think  how  soon  she  would  be  confronted 
with  her  lie,  and  she  answered,  "  I  do  not  know.  It  is  the  first 
intimation  I  have  heard  of  Squire  Irving' s  reason  for  changing 
his  Will." 

She  had  forgotten  her  language  to  Lawyer  Schofield  the  night 
after  the  funeral  when  the  other  Will  was  the  subject  of  debate  ; 
but  Roger  remembered  it,  and  his  eyes  rested  steadily  on  her 
face  as  he  said,  "You  do  not  know?  You  never  heard  it 
hinted  that  my  mother  was  false,  then  ?  " 

"Never,"  she  felt  constrained  to  say,  for  there  was  something 
in  those  burning  eyes  which  threatened  her  with  harm  if  by 
word  or  look  she  breathed  aught  against  the  purity  of  poor 
Jessie  Morton. 

"  Who  found  this  Will,  and  where  ?"  Roger  asked  her  next, 
and  with  a  mean  desire  to  pay  him  for  that  look,  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  replied,  "  Magdalen  found  it.  She  has  hunted  for  it  at 
intervals,  ever  since  she  was  a  child  and  heard  that  there  was 

one." 

But  she  repented  what  she  had  said  when  she  saw  how  deep 

her  blow  had  struck. 

"  Magda  found  it ;  oh,  Magda,  I  would  a  thousand  times 
rather  it  had  been  some  one  else." 

That  was  what  Roger  said,  as  with  a  bitter  groan  he  laid  his 
head  upon  the  table,  while  sob  after  sob  shook  his  frame  and 
frightened  his  sister,  who  had  never  dreamed  of  pain  like  this. 
Tearless  sobs  they  were,  for  Roger  was  not  crying ;  he  was 
writhing  in  anguish,  and  the  sobs  were  like  gasping  moans,  so 
terrible  was  his  grief.  He  remetabered  what  Magdalen  had 


1 82  ROGER  AND   THE    WILL. 

told  him  once  of  looking  for  the  Will  when  she  was  a  child,  and 
remembered  how  sorry  she  had  seamed.  Had  she  deliberately- 
deceived  him,  and,  after  he  had  told  her  that  it  was  supposed 
to  give  Frank  nearly  everything,  had  she  resumed  her  search, 
hoping  to  find  and  restore  to  her  lover  his  fortune  ?  Then  he 
thought  of  that  night  with  Plester,  and  the  cobweb  in  Magdalen's 
hair.  She  had  been  to  the  garret,  according  to  her  own  confes 
sion,  and  she  had  looked  for  the  missing  will  then  and  "  at 
intei  vals "  since,  until  she  had  found  it  and  sent  it  to  him  by 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  instead  of  bringing  it  herself? 

And  he  had  loved  her  so  much,  and  thought  her  so  innocent 
and  artless  and  true,  — his  little  girl  through  whom  he  had  been 
so  terribly  wounded.  If  she  had  come  herself  with  it  and  given 
it  into  his  hands  and  told  him  all  about  it,  he  would  not  have 
felt  one  half  so  badly  as  to  receive  it  from  another,  and  that 
other  the  cruel,  pitiless  woman  whose  real  character  he  recog 
nized  as  he  had  never  done  .before.  He  had  nothing  to  hope 
from  her,  nothing  to  hope  from  Frank,  nothing  from  Mag 
dalen.  They  were  all  leagued  against  him.  They  would  en 
joy  Millbank,  and  he  would  go  from  their  midst  a  ruined,  heart 
broken  man,  shorn  of  his  love,  shorn  of  his  fortune,  and  shorn 
of  his  name,  if  that  dreadful  clause,  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger 
Lennox  Irving,"  really  meant  anything.  He  knew  it  was  false ; 
he  never  for  a  moment  thought  otherwise  ;  but  it  was  recorded 
against  him  by  his  own  father,  and  after  Magdalen,  it  was  the 
keenest,  bitterest  pang  of  all. 

Could  that  have  been  stricken  out  and  could  he  have  kept 
Magdalen,  he  would  have  given  all  the  rest  without  a  murmur. 

As  the  will  read,  it  was  right  that  Frank  should  come  into 
his  inheritance,  and  Roger  had  no  thought  or  wish  to  keep  him 
from  it.  He  did  not  meditate  a  warfare  against  his  nephew,  as 
his  sister  feared  he  might.  He  had  only  given  way  for  a  few 
moments  to  the  grief,  and  pain,  and  humiliation  which  had  come 
so  suddenly  upon  him,  and  he  lay,  with  his  face  upon  the  table, 
until  the  first  burst  of  the  storm  was  over,  and  his  sobs  changed 
to  long-drawn  breaths,  and  finally  ceased  entirely,  as  he  lifted 


ROGER  AND    THE    WILL.  183 

up  his  head  and  looked  again  at  the  fatal  document  before 
him. 

Shocked  at  the  sight  of  his  distress,  his  sister  had  at  first  tried 
to  comfort  him.  With  a  woman's  quick  perception  she  had 
seen  that  Magdalen  was  the  sorest  part  of  all,  and  had  said  tc 
him  soothingly : 

"It  was  by  accident  that  Magdalen  found  it.  She  was  great 
ly  disturbed  about  it." 

This  did  not  tally  with  her  first  statement,  that  "  Magdalen 
had  sought  for  it  at  intervals,"  and  Roger  made  a  gesture  for 
her  to  stop.  So  she  sat  watching  him,  and  trembling  a  little, 
as  she  began  dimly  to  see  what  the  taking  of  Millbank  from 
Roger  would  involve. 

"  Excuse  me,  Helen,"  he  said,  with  all  his  old  courtesy  of 
manner,  as  he  wiped  the  sweat  drops  from  his  beard.  "  Ex 
cuse  rne  if,  for  a  moment,  I  gave  way  to  my  feelings  in  your 
presence.  It  was  so  sudden,  and  there  were  so  many  sources 
of  pain  which  met  me  at  once,  that  I  could  not  at  first  control 
myself.  It  was  not  so  much  the  loss  of  my  fortune.  I  could 
bear  that  — " 

"Then  you  do  not  intend  to  contest  the  will?"  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  said. 

It  was  a  strange  question  for  her  to  ask  then,  and  she  blushed 
as  she  did  it ;  but  she  must  know  what  the  prospect  was,  while 
underlying  her  own  selfish  motives  was  a  thought  that  if  Roger 
did  not  mean  to  dispute  the  right  with  Frank,  she  would  brave 
the  displeasure  of  her  son,  and  then  and  there  pour  balm  into 
the  wound,  by  telling  Roger  of  her  belief  that  he  was,  and 
always  had  been,  preferred  to  Frank  by  Magdalen.  But  she 
was  prevented  from  this  by  the  abrupt  entrance  of  Frank  him 
self.  He  had  heard  that  his  mother  was  with  Roger,  and  had 
hastened  to  the  room,  seeing  at  a  glance  that  the  blow  had 
been  given  ;  that  Roger  had  seen  the  will ;  and  for  a  moment 
he  stood  speechless  before  the  white  face  and  the  soft  blue  eyes 
which  met  him  so  wistfully  as  he  came  in.  There  was  no  re 
proach  in  them,  only  a  dumb  kind  of  pleading  as  if  for  pity, 


1 84  ROGER  AND   THE   WILL. 

which  touched  Frank's  heart  to  the  very  core,  and  brought  him 
to  Roger's  side. 

Roger  was  the  first  to  speak.  Putting  out  his  hand  to  Frank, 
he  tried  to  smile,  and  said : 

"  Forgive  me,  boy,  for  having  kept  you  from  your  own  so 
long.  If  I  had  believed  for  a  moment  that  there  was  such  a 
will,  I  would  never  have  rested  day  or  night  till  I  had  found  it 
for  you.  I  wish  I  had.  I  would  far  rather  I  had  found  it  than 
—  than " 

He  could  not  say  "Magdalen,"  but  Frank  knew  whom  he 
meant,  and,  in  his  great  pity  for  the  wounded  man,  he  was  ready 
to  give  up  everything  to  him  but  Magdalen.  He  must  have 
her,  but  Roger  should  keep  Millbank. 

"  I  believe  that  I  am  more  sorry  than  you  can  be  that  the 
will  is  found,"  he  said,  still  grasping  Roger's  hand.  "And  I 
want  to  say  to  you  now  that  I  prefer  you  should  keep  the  place 
just  as  you  have  done.  There  need  be  no  change.  Only  give 
me  enough  to  support  myself  and  —  and " 

He  could  not  say  Magdalen  either,  for  he  was  not  so  sure  of 
her,  but  Roger  said  it  for  him. 

"  Support  yourself  and  Magdalen.  I  know  what  you  mean, 
my  boy.  You  are  very  generous  and  kind,  but  right  is  right. 
When  I  thought  Millbank  mine,  I  kept  it.  Now  that  I  know 
it  is  not  mine,  I  shall  accept  no  part  of 'it ',  however  small." 

He  spoke  sternly,  and  his  face  began  to  harden.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  clause,  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox 
Irving."  He  could  take  no  part  of  the  estate  of  the  man  who 
had  dictated  those  cruel  words.  He  was  too  proud  for  that ; 
he  would  rather  earn  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  than 
be  beholden  to  one  who  could  believe  such  things  of  his  mother. 
Frank  saw  the  change  in  his  manner,  and  anxious  to  propitiate 
him,  began  again  to  urge  his  wish  that  Roger  would,  at  least, 
allow  him  to  divide  the  inheritance  in  case  the  will  was  proved, 
but  Roger  stopped  him  impatiently. 

"  It  is  not  you,  my  boy,  whose  gift  I  refuse.  If  you  cannot 
understand  me,  I  shall  not  now  explain.  I've  lived  on  you  foi 


ROGER  AND    THE    WILL.  185 

years.  I  can  never  repay  that,  for  I  feel  as  if  all  my  energies 
were  crippled,  so  I  will  let  that  obligation  remain,  but  must 
incur  no  other.  As  to  proving  the  will,"  and  Roger  smiled 
bitterly  when  he  saw  how  eagerly  his  sister  listened,  and  re- 
membered  the  question  she  had  asked  him  just  as  Frank  came 
in,  and  which  he  had  not  yet  answered,  "  As  to  proving  the 
will,  you  will  have  no  trouble  there.  I  certainly  shall  make 
none.  You  will  find  it  very  easy  stepping  into  your  estate." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  sank  into 
her  chair,  in  the  easy,  contented,  languid  attitude  she  always 
assumed  when  satisfied  with  herself  and  her  condition.  She 
roused  up,  however,  when  Roger  went  on  to  say  : 

"  One  thing  I  must  investigate,  and  that  is,  who  hid  this  will, 
and  why.  Have  you  any  theory  ?  "  and  he  turned  to  his  sister, 
who  replied,  "I  have  always  suspected  Hester  Floyd.  She 
was  a  witness,  with  her  husband." 

"  Why  did  you  always  suspect  her,  and  what  reason  had  you 
for  believing  there  was  a  later  will  than  the  one  made  in  my 
favor  ?  "  Roger  asked,  and  his  sister  quailed  beneath  the  search 
ing  glance  of  his  eyes. 

She  could  not  tell  him  all  she  knew,  and  she  colored  scarlet 
and  stammered  out  something  about  Mrs.  Floyd's  strange  man 
ner  at  the  time  of  the  Squire's  funeral,  nearly  twenty  years  ago. 

"  Frank,  please  go  for  Hester,"  Roger  said.  ll  We  will  hear 
what  she  has  to  say." 

Frank  bowed  in  acquiescence,  and,  leaving  the  room,  was 
soon  knocking  at  Hester  Floyd's  door. 


1 86  HESTER  AND    THE    WILL. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HESTER   AND   THE    WILL. 

JESTER  was  sitting  by  her  fire  knitting  a  sock  "ol 
Roger,  and  Aleck  was  with  her,  smoking  his  pipe  in  he 
corner,  and  occasionally  opening  his  small,  sleepy  eyes 
to  look  at  his  better  half  when  she  addressed  some  remark  to 
him.  They  were  a  very  quiet,  comfortable,  easy-looking  couple 
as  they  sat  there  together  in  the  pleasant  room  which  had  been 
theirs  for  more  than  forty  years,  and  their  thoughts  were  as  far 
as  possible  from  the  storm-cloud  bursting  over  their  heads,  and 
of  which  Frank  was  the  harbinger. 

"  Mrs.  Floyd,  Mr.  Irving  would  like  to  see  you  in  the 
library,"  Frank  said  a  little  stiffly,  and  in  his  manner  there  was 
a  tinge  of  importance  and  self-assurance  unusual  to  him  when 
addressing  the  head  of  Millbank,  Mrs.  Hester  P'loyd. 

Hester  did  not  detect  this  manner,  but  she  saw  that  he  was 
agitated  and  nervous,  and  she  dropped  a  stitch  in  her  knitting 
as  she  looked  at  him  and  said,  "  Roger  wants  me  in  the 
library  ?  What  for  ?  Has  anything  happened  that  you  look 
white  as  a  rag  ?  " 

Frank  was  twenty-seven  years  old,  but  there  was  still  enough 
of  the  child  about  him  to  make  him  like  to  be  first  to  commu 
nicate  news  whether  good  or  bad,  and  to  Hester's  question  he 
replied,  "  Yes.  The  missing  will  is  found." 

Hester  dropped  a  whole  needle  full  of  stitches,  and  she  was 
whiter  now  than  Frank  as  she  sprang  to  Aleck's  side  and  shook 
him  so  vigorously  that  the  pipe  fell  from  his  mouth,  and  the 
stolid,  stupid  look  left  his  face  for  once  as  she  said  :  "  Do  you 
hear,  Aleck,  the  will  is  found  !  The  will  that  turns  Roger 
out-doors." 

Aleck  did  not  seem  so  much  agitated  as  his  wife,  and  after 
gazing  blankly  at  her  for  a  moment,  he  slowly  picked  up  his 


HESTER  AND   THE    WILL.  1^7 

pipe  and  said,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance,   "  You  better  go 
and  see  to't.     You  don't  want  me  along." 

She  did  not  want  him ;  that  is,  she  did  not  need  him  ;  and 
with  a  gesture  of  contempt  she  turned  from  him  to  Frank,  and 
said,  "  I  am  ready.  Come." 

There  was  nothing  of  the  deference  due  to  the  heir  of  Mill, 
bank  in  her  tone  and  manner.  Frank  would  never  receive 
that  from  her,  and  she  flounced  out  into  the  hall,  and  kept  a 
step  or  two  in  advance  of  the  young  man,  to  whom  she  said, 
"  Who  is  with  Roger  ?  Anybody  ?  " 

As  she  came  nearer  to  the  library  she  began  to  have  a  little 
dread  of  what  she  might  encounter,  and  visions  of  lawyers  and 
constables,  armed  and  equipped  to  arrest  her  bodily,  flitted  un 
easily  before  her  mind  ;  but  when  Frank  replied,  "  There  is  no 
one  there  but  mother,"  her  fear  vanished,  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  most  violent  fit  of  anger  at  the  luckless  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott. 

"  The  jade  ! "  she  said.  "  I  always  mistrusted  how  her 
snoopin'  around  would  end.  If  I'd  had  my  way,  she  should 
never  have  put  foot  inside  this  house,  the  trollop." 

"  Mrs.  Floyd,  you  are  speaking  of  my  mother.  You  must 
stop.  I  cannot  allow  it." 

It  was  the  master  of  Millbank  who  spoke,  and  Hester  turned 
upon  him  fiercely. 

"  For  the  Lord's  sake,  how  long  since  you  took  such  airs  ? 
I  shall  speak  of  that  woman  how  and  where  I  choose,  and  you 
can't  help  yourself." 

By  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Hester  was  not  in  the  softest  of 
moods  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  library,  but  her  feelings 
changed  the  moment  she  stood  in  the  room  where  Roger  was. 
She  had  expected  to  find  hkn  hot,  excited,  defiant,  and  ready, 
like  herself,  to  battle  with  those  who  would  take  his  birthright 
from  him.  She  was  not  prepared  for  the  crushed,  white-faced 
man  who  looked  up  at  her  so  helplessly  as  she  came  in,  and 
tried  to  force  a  smile  as  he  pointed  to  a  chair  at  his  side,  and 
said,  — 


1 88  HESTER  AND   THE   WILL. 

"  Sit  here  by  me,  Hester.  It  is  you  and  I  now.  You  and 
I  alone." 

His  chin  quivered  a  little  as  he  held  the  chair  for  her  to  si? 
down,  and  then  kept  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  as  if  he  felt  bettei. 
stronger  so.  He  knew -he  had  her  sympathy,  that  every  pulsa 
tion  of  her  heart  beat  for  him,  that  she  would  cling  to  him 
through  weal  and  woe,  and  he  felt  a  kind  of  security  in  having 
her  there  beside  him.  Hester  saw  the  yellow,  soiled  papei 
spread  out  before  him,  and  recognized  it  at  a  glance.  Then 
she  looked  across  the  table  toward  the  proud  woman  who  sat 
toying  with  her  rings,  and  exulting  at  the  downfall  of  poor 
Roger.  At  her  Hester  glowered  savagely,  and  was  met  by  a 
derisive  smile,  which  told  how  utterly  indifferent  the  lady  was  to 
her  and  her  opinion.  Then  Hester's  glance  came  back,  and 
rested  pityingly  on  her  boy,  whose  finger  now  was  on  the  will, 
and  who  said  to  her,  — 

"  Hester,  there  was  another  will,  as  Helen  thought.  It  is 
here  before  me.  It  was  found  under  the  garret  floor.  Do  you 
know  who  put  it  there  ?  " 

He  was  very  calm,  as  if  asking  an  ordinary  question,  and 
his  manner  went  far  toward  reassuring  Hester,  who,  by  this 
time,  had  made  up  her  mind  to  tell  the  truth,  and  brave  the 
consequences. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "  I  put  it  there  myself,  the  day  your 
father  died." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  dropped  from  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  lips  ;  but 
Hester  paid  no  heed  to  her. 

She  was  looking  at  Roger,  fascinated  by  the  expression  of  his 
eyes  and  face  as  he  went  on  to  question  her. 

"  Why  did  you  hide  it,  and  where  did  you  find  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  lying  on  the  table,  where  Aleck  found  him  dead, 
spread  out  before  him,  as  if  he  had  been  reading  it  over,  as  I 
know  he  had,  and  he  meant  to  change  it,  too,  for  he'd  asked 
young  Schofield  to  come  that  night  and  fix  it.  Don't  you  re 
member  Schofield  said  so  ?  " 

Roger  nodded,  and  she  continued  : 


HESTER  AND   THE    WILL.  1 89 

"  And  I  know  by  another  way  that  he  meant  to  change  it. 
•Twas  so  writ  in  his  letter  to  you." 

"  His  letter  to  me,  Hester  ?  There  was  nothing  like  that 
in  the  letter,"  Roger  exclaimed  ;  and  Hester  continued  : 

"  Not  in  the  one  I  gave  to  you,  I  know.  That  he  must 
have  begun  first,  and  quit,  because  he  blotched  it,  or  some 
thing.  Any  ways,  there  was  another  one  finished  for  you,  and 
in  it  he  said  he  was  goin'  to  fix  the  will,  add  a  cod-cil  or  some 
thing,  because  he  said  it  was  unjust." 

"  Why  did  you  withhold  that  letter  from  me,  Hester,  and 
where  is  it  now  ?" 

Roger  spoke  a  little  sternly,  and  glad  of  an  excuse  to  turn 
his  attention  from  herself  to  some  one  else,  Hester  replied, — 

"  It  was  in  the  same  box  with  t'other  paper,  and  I  s'pose 
she's  got  it  who  snooped  till  she  found  the  will." 

She  glanced  meaningly  at  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  deigned 
her  no  reply,  but  who  began  to  feel  uneasy  with  regard  to  the 
letter  of  which  she  had  not  before  heard,  and  whose  contents 
she  did  not  know. 

Neither  Roger  nor  Frank  wished  to  mix  Magdalen  up  with 
the  matter,  if  possible  to  avoid  it,  and  no  mention  was  made  of 
her  then,  and  Hester  was  suffered  to  believe  it  was  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  who  had  found  the  will. 

"You  read  the  letter,  Hester.  Tell  me  what  was  in  it," 
Roger  said. 

And  then  Hester's  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes  flashed  fire,  as 
she  replied,  — 

"  There  was  in  it  that  which  had  never  or*  to  be  writ.  He  giv 
the  reason  why  he  made  this  will.  He  was  driv  to  it  by  some 
body  who  pisoned  his  mind  with  the  biggest,  most  impossible 
slander  agin  the  sweetest,  innocentest  woman  that  ever  drawed 
the  breath." 

Roger  was  listening  eagerly  now,  with  a  fiery  gleam  in  his 
blue  eyes,  and  his  nostrils  quivering  with  indignation. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  listening,  too,  her   face  very  pale, 


19°  HESTER  AND    THE    WILL. 

except  where  a  bright  spot  of  red '  burned  on  her  cheeks,  and 
her  lips  slightly  apart,  showing  her  white  teeth. 

Frank  was  listening  also,  and  gradually  coming  to  an  under 
standing  of  what  had  been  so  mysterious  before. 

Neither  of  the  three  thought  of  interrupting  Hester,  who  had 
the  field  to  herself,  and  who,  now  that  she  was  fairly  launched, 
went  on  rapidly  : 

''  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  bein'  the  will  is  found,  which 
I  never  meant  it  should  be,  and  then  them  as  is  mistress  here 
now  can  take  me  to  jail  as  soon  as  they  likes.  It  don't  matter, 
the  few  days  I've  got  left  to  live.  I  signed  that  fust  Will,  me 
and  Aleck,  twenty  odd  year  ago,  and  more,  and  I  knew  pretty 
well  what  was  in  it,  and  that  it  was  right,  and  gin  the  property 
to  the  proper  person ;  and  then  I  thought  no  more  about  it  till 
a  few  months  before  he  died,  when  Aleck  and  me  was  called  in 
agin  to  witness  another  will,  here  in  this  room,  standin'  about 
as  I  set  now,  with  the  old  gentleman  where  that  woman  is, 
Aleck  where  you  be,  and  Lawyer  Schoueld  where  Mr.  Franklin 
stands.  I  thought  it  was  a  queer  thing,  and  mistrusted  some- 
thin'  wrong,  particularly  as  I  remembered  a  conversation  I 
overheard  a  week  or  so  before  about  you,  Roger,  and  your 
mother,  compared  to  who,  that  other  woman  ain't  fit  to  live  in 
the  same  place  ;  and  she  won't  neither,  she'll  find,  when  we  all 
get  our  dues." 

Both  Roger  and  Frank  knew  she  referred  to  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott,  who,  if  angry  glances  could  have  annihilated  her,  would 
have  done  so.  But  Hester  was  not  afraid  of  her,  and  went  on, 
not  very  connectedly,  but  still  intelligibly,  to  those  who  were 
listening  so  intently : 

"  She  pisoned  his  mind  with  snaky,  insinuatin'  lies,  which  she 
didn't  exactly  speak  out,  as  I  heard,  but  hinted  at,  and  made  me 
so  mad  that  I  wanted  to  throttle  her  then,  and  I  wish  I  had 
bust  into  the  room  and  told  her  it  was  all  a  lie,  as  I  could  prove 
arid  swear  to  ;  for,  from  the  day  Jessie  Morton  married  Squire 
Irving  until  the  summer  she  went  to  Saratoga,  when  you, 
Roger,  was  quite  a  little  shaver,  she  never  laid  eyes  on  that 


HESTER  AND    THE    WILL.  IQI 

man,  who  was  her  ruin  afterward.  I  know  it  is  so,  and  so  does 
others,  for  I've  inquired ;  and  if  the  scamp  was  here,  he'd  tell 
you  so,  which  I  wish  he  was,  and  if  I  knew  where  to  find  him, 
I'd  go  on  my  hands  and  knees  to  get  his  word,  too,  that  what 
this  good-for-nothing  snake  in  the  grass  told  was  a  lie  ! " 

Human  nature  could  endure  no  more,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  turning  to  her  son,  asked,  — 

"  If  he,  a  man,  would  sit  quietly,  and  hear  his  mother  so 
abused  ? " 

"  You  have  a  right  to  stop  her,"  she  said,  as  she  saw  Frank 
hesitate.  "  A  right  to  turn  her  out  of  the  house." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him  do  it,"  Hester  rejoined,  her  old  face 
aglow  with  passion  and  fierce  anger. 

"  Hush,  Hester,  hush,"  Roger  said,  in  his  quiet,  gentle  way ; 
"  and  you,  Helen,  sit  down  and  listen.  If  I  can  bear  this,  you 
certainly  can." 

The  perspiration  was  rolling  from  his  face  in  great  drops  a 
second  time,  and  something  like  a  groan  broke  from  his  lips  as 
he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands  and  said,  "  My  mother,  oh, 
my  mother,  that'I  should  hear  her  so  maligned." 

"  She  wan't  maligned,"  Hester  exclaimed,  misinterpreting  the 
meaning  of  the  word.  "It  was  a  lie,  the  whole  on't.  She 
never  left  this  house  except  for  church  or  parties,  and  only 
three  of  them,  one  to  Miss  Johnson's,  one  to  Squire  Schofield's, 
and  one  to  Mrs.  Lennox's,  and  a  few  calls,  from  the  time  she 
came  here  till  after  you  was  born ;  I  know,  I  was  here,  I  was 
your  nurse,  I  waited  on  her,  and  loved  her  like  my  own  from  the 
moment  she  cried  so  on  my  neck  and  said  she  didn't  want  to 
come  here.  She  was  too  young  to  come  as  his  wife.  She  was 
nothin'  but  a  child,  and  when  she  couldn't  stan'  the  racket  any 
longer  she  run  away." 

Roger  was  shaking  now  as  with  an  ague  fit.  Here  was  some 
thing  which  Hester  could  not  deny.  Jessie  had  run  away  and 
left  him,  her  baby  boy.  There  was  no  getting  smoothly  over 
that,  and  he  shivered  with  pain  as  the  old  woman  went  on  : 

"I  don't  pretend  to  excuse  her,  though  there's  a  good  deal 


1 92  HESTER  AND    THE    WILL. 

to  be  said  on  both  sides,  and  it  most  broke  her  heart,  as  a  body 
who  see  her  as  I  did  that  last  night  at  home  would  know." 

"  Hester,"  Roger  said,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  anguish, 
"  why  must  you  tell  all  this.  It  surely  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter  under  consideration,  and  I  would  rather  be  spared, 
if  possible,  or  at  least  hear  it  alone." 

"  I  must  tell  it,"  Hester  rejoined,  "  to  show  you  why  I  hid 
the  will,  and  why  he  made  it,  and  how  big  a  lie  that  woman 
told  him." 

There  was  the  most  intense  scorn  in  her  voice  every  time 
she  said  "  that  woman,"  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  winced  under 
it,  but  had  no  redress  then  ;  her  time  for  that  would  be  by  and 
by,  she  reflected,  and  assuming  a  haughty  indifference  she  was 
far  from  feeling  she  kept  still  while  Hester  went  on  : 

"  The  night  she  went  away  she  undressed  her  baby  herself; 
she  wouldn't  let  me  touch  him,  and  all  the  time  she  did  it  she 
was  whispering,  and  cooing,  and  crying-like  over  him,  and  she 
kissed  his  face  and  arms,  and  even  his  little  feet,  and  said  once 
aloud  so  I  in  the  next  room  heard  her,  '  My  poor  darling,  my 
pet,  my  precious  one,  will  you  ever  hate  your  mother  ? '  " 

"  Hester,  I  cannot  hear  another  word  of  that.  Don't  you 
see  you  are  killing  me  ? "  Roger  said,  and  this  time  the  tears 
streamed  in  torrents  down  his  face,  and  his  voice  was  choked 
with  sobs. 

Hester  heeded  him  now,  and  there  were  tears  on  her  wrin 
kled  face  as  she  laid  her  hand  pityingly  on  his  golden  brown 
hair  and  said,  "  Poor  boy,  I  won't  harrer  you  any  more.  I'll 
stick  to  the  pint,  which  is  that  your  mother,  after  you  was 
asleep,  and  just  afore  I  left  her  for  the  night,  came  up  to  me  in 
her  pretty  coaxin'  way,  and  told  me  what  a  comfort  I  was  to 
her,  and  said  if  anything  ever  was  to  happen  that  Roger  should 
have  no  mother,  she  would  trust  me  to  care  for  him  before  all 
the  world,  and  she  made  me  promise  that  if  anything  should  hap 
pen,  I  would  never  desert  Roger,  but  love  him  as  if  he  was  my 
own,  and  consider  his  interest  before  that  of  any  one  else.  I 
want  you  to  mind  them  words,  '  consider  his  interest  before 


HESTER  AND    THE    WILL.  193 

any  one  else,'  for  that's  the  upshot  of  the  whole  thing.  I 
promised  to  do  it.  I  swore  I  would  do  it,  and  I've  kep'  my 
word.  Next  morning  she  was  gone,  and  in  a  week  or  so  was 
drownded  dead  off  Cape  Hattrass,  where  I  hope  I'll  never  go, 
for  there's  allus  a  hurricane  there  when  there  ain't  a  breath 
no  wheres  else.  I  sot  them  words  down.  I've  read  'em  every 
Sunday  since  as  regular  as  my  Bible,  and  that  fetches  me  to 
the  mornin'  the  Squire  was  found  dead. 

"  That  woman  had  been  here  a  few  months  before,  workin' 
on  his  pride  and  pisenen'  his  mind,  till  he  was  drove  out  of  his 
head,  and  you  not  here,  either,  to  prove  it  was  a  lie  by  your 
face,  which,  savin'  the  eyes  and  hair,  is  every  inch  an  Irving. 
He  acted  crazy-like,  and  mad  them  days,  as  Aleck  and  me 
noticed,  and  he  made  another  will,  after  that  woman  was  gone 
to  Boston,  and  a  spell  after  she  went  home  for  good.  Aleck 
went  up  in  the  mornin'  to  make  a  fire  here  in  this  very  room, 
and,  sittin'  in  his  chair,  he  found  the  Squire  stark  dead,  and 
cold  and  stiff,  and  he  come  for  me  who  was  the  only  other  body 
up  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  and  I  not  more'n  half  dressed. 
There  was  the  will,  lyin'  open  on  the  table,  as  if  he  had  been 
readin'  it,  and  I  read  it,  and  Aleck,  too ;  'twas  this  same  will, 
and  my  blood  biled  like  a  caldron  kittle,  and  Aleck  fairly 
swore,  and  we  said,  what  does  it  mean  ?  There  was  a  letter 
on  the  table,  too,  a  finished  letter  for  Roger,  and  I  read  it,  and 
found  the  reason  there.  The  Squire's  conscience  had  been  a 
smitin'  him  ever  since  he  did  the  rascally  thing,  and  at  last  he'd 
made  up  his  mind  to  add  a  cod-cill,  and  he  seemed  to  have  a 
kind  of  forerunner  that  he  should  never  see  Roger  agin,  and  so 
he  tried  to  explain  the  bedivelment  and  smooth  it  over  and  all 
that,  and  signed  himself,  '  Your  affectionate  father.'  " 

"  Did  he,  Hester  ?  Did  he  own  me  at  last  ?  "  Roger's  voice 
rang  through  the  room  like  a  bell,  its  joyful  tones  thrilling  even 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  was  growing  greatly  interested  in  Hes 
ter's  narrative,  while  Frank  stood  perfectly  spellbound,  as  if 
fearful  of  losing  a  word  of  the  strange  story. 

"Yes,  I'm  pretty  sure  he  did,"  Hester  said,  in  reply  to 
9 


194  HESTER  AND    THE    WILL. 

Roger's  question.  "Any  way,  he  said  he  had  forgiven  youl 
mother,  and  he  would  leave  her  letter  with  his,  for  you,  in  case 
he  never  see  you,  and  I  gin  you  your  mother's,  but  kept  his, 
because  that  would  have  told  you  about  the  will,  which  I 
meant  to  hide.  We  both  thought  on't  to  once,  Aleck  and  me, 
but  I  spoke  first,  bein'  a  woman,  and  mentioned  the  promise  to 
consider  Roger's  interest  before  any  body's  else,  and  Jessie 
seemed  to  be  there  with  us,  and  haunted  me,  with  the  great 
blue  eyes  of  hern,  till  I  made  up  my  mind,  and  took  the  pesky 
thing  and  the  letter,  and  put  'em  away  safe  up  in  the  garret 
under  the  floor,  where  I'd  had  a  piece  sawed  out  a  spell  before, 
so  as  to  put  pisen  under  there  for  the  rats.  Then  I  moved  an 
old  settee  over  the  place,  and  chairs  and  things,  so  that  it  would 
look  as  if  nobody  had  been  there  for  ages.  He  must  have  be 
gun  another  letter  first  and  blotched  it,  for  the  sheet  lay  there, 
and  I  took  it  as  a  special  Providence  and  kept  it  for  Roger,  as 
his  father's  last  words  to  him.  I  knew  t'other  will  was  not  de 
stroyed,  for  I'd  seen  it  not  long  before,  and  I  found  it  in  his 
writing  desk,  sealed  up  like  a  drum,  and  left  it  there,  and  then 
she  came  with  her  lofty  airs,  and  queened  it  over  us,  as  if  she 
thought  she  was  lord  of  all ;  but  her  feathers  drooped  a  bit 
when  the  will  was  read,  and  she  thought  the  old  Harry  was 
in  it,  and  hinted,  and  snooped,  and  rummaged  the  very  first 
night,  for  I  found  her  there,  with  her  night  gownd  on,  and  more 
than  forty  papers  stickin'  in  her  hair,  though  why  she  thought 
'twas  there,  is  more  than  I  know  ;  but  she's  hunted  the  garret 
ever  since  by  turns,  and  I  moved  it  twice,  and  then  carried  it 
back,  and  once  she  set  Magdalen  at  it,  she  or  he,  it's  little  mat 
ter  which." 

Magdalen  was  a  sore  point  with  Roger,  and  he  shuddered, 
when  her  name  was  mentioned,  and  thought  of  the  letter,  and 
wondered  if  she  had  it,  and  would  ever  bring  it  to  him. 

"  I  was  easy  enough  when  that  woman  wasn't  here,"  Hester 
continued,  "  and  I  did  think  for  a  spell,  she'd  met  with  a 
change,  she  was  so  soft  and  so  velvety  and  so  nice,  that  butter 
couldn't  melt  in  her  mouth  if  it  should  try.  Maybe  she's  for- 


HESTER  AND    THE    WILL.  1 95 

got  what  she  spmng  from,  but  I  knew  the  Browns,  root  and 
branch  ;  they  allus  was  a  peekin',  rummagin'  set,  and  her  uncle 
peeked  into  a  money  drawer  once.  She  comes  honestly  by  hei 
snoopin'  that  found  the  will." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  borne  a  great  deal  of  abuse  from 
Hester,  and  borne  it  quietly  after  her  appeal  to  Frank,  but  now 
she  could  keep  still  no  longer,  and  she  half  rose  from  her  chair, 
and  exclaimed : 

"  Silence,  old  woman,  or  I  will  have  you  put  out  of  the  house, 
and  I  hold  Frank  less  than  a  man  if  he  will  hear  me  so  abused. 
I  never  found  the  will.  It  was  Magdalen  Lennox  who  found 
it,  just  where  you  told  her  it  was  when  you  were  crazy." 

"  Magdalen  found  it,  and  brought  it  to  you  instead  of  burnin' 
it  up  ! "  old  Hester  exclaimed,  raising  her  hands  in  astonishment, 
and  feeling  her  blood  grow  hot  against  the  poor  girl.  "  Mag 
dalen  found  it,  after  all  he  has  done  for  her !  She's  a  viper 
then  ;  and  my  curse  be  —  " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  both  Roger  and  Frank 
laid  a  hand  upon  her  mouth,  and  stopped  the  harsh  words  she 
would  have  spoken. 

"You  don't  know  the  circumstances.  You  shall  not  speak 
so  of  Magdalen,"  Roger  said,  while  Frank,  glad  of  a  chance  to 
prove  that  he  was  a  man  even  if  he  had  allowed  his  mother  to 
be  abused,  said  sternly  :  "  Mrs.  Floyd,  I  have  stood  quietly  by 
and  heard  my  mother  insulted,  but  when  you  attack  Magdalen 
I  can  keep  still  no  longer.  She  must  not  be  slandered  in  my 
presence.  I  hope  she  will  be  my  wife." 

Hester  gave  a  violent  start,  and  a  sudden  gleam  of  intelli 
gence  came  into  her  eyes,  as  she  replied,  "  Oh,  I  see  now.  She 
wasn't  content  to  have  you  alone,  and  I  don't  blame  her  for 
that.  It  would  be  a  sickening  pill  to  swaller,  you  and  that 
woman  too  but  she  must  take  advantage  of  my  crazy  talk,  and 
find  the  will  which  makes  her  lover  a  nabob.  That's  what  I 
call  gratitude  to  me  and  Roger,  for  all  we've  done  for  her. 
Much  good  may  her  money  and  lover  do  her ! " 

Thus  speaking,  Hester  rose  from  her  chair  and  went  toward 


196  HESTER  AND   THE    WILL. 

Roger,  who  had  sat  as  rigid  as  a  stone  while  she  put  into  words 
what,  as  the  shadow  of  a  thought,  he  had  tried  so  hard  to  fight 
down. 

"  I'm  done  now,"  she  said.  "  I've  told  all  I  know  about  the 
will.  I  hid  it,  Aleck  and  me,  and  I  ain't  sorry  neither,  and  I'm 
ready  to  go  to  jail  any  minit  the  new  lords  see  fit  to  send  me." 

She  started  for  the  door,  but  came  back  again  to  Roger,  and, 
laying  her  hand  on  his  hair,  said  soothingly,  and  in  a  very  dif 
ferent  tone  from  the  one  she  had  assumed  when  addressing 
Frank  or  his  mother  :  "  Don't  take  it  so  hard,  my  boy.  We'll 
git  along  somehow.  I  ain't  so  very  old.  There's  a  good  deal 
of  vim  in  me  yet,  and  me  and  Aleck  will  work  like  dogs  for 
you.  We'll  sell  the  tavern  stand,  and  you  shall  have  the  hull  it 
fetches.  Your  father  give  us  the  money  to  buy  it,  you  know." 

Roger  could  not  fail  to  be  touched  by  this  generous  unself 
ishness,  and  he  grasped  the  hard-wrinkled  hand,  and  tried  to 
smile,  as  he  said  :  "  Thank  you,  Hester,  I  knew  you  would  not 
desert  me ;  but  I  shall  not  need  your  little  fortune.  I  can. 
work  for  us  all." 

It  was  growing  dark  by  this  time,  and  the  bell  had  thrice  sent 
forth  its  summons  to  dinner.  As  Roger  finished  speaking,  it 
rang  again,  and,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  away,  old  Hester  said, 
"  What  do  they  mean  by  keepin'  that  bell  a  dingin'  when  they 
might  know  we'd  something  on  hand  of  more  account  than 
victuals  and  drink.  I'll  go  and  see  to't  myself." 

She  hurried  out  into  the  hall,  and  Frank  shut  the  door  after 
her,  and  then  came  back  to  the  table,  and  began  to  urge  upon 
Roger  the  acceptance  of  a  portion,  at  least,  of  the  immense 
fortune,  which  a  few  hours  before  he  had  believed  to  be  all  his 
own.  But  Roger  stopped  him  short. 

"  Don't,  Frank,"  he  said.  "  I  know  you  mean  it  now,  and, 
perhaps,  would  mean  it  always,  but  so  long  as  that  clause  stands 
against  me,  I  can  take  nothing  from  the  Irvings." 

He  pointed  to  the  words  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox 
Irving,"  and  Frank  rejoined,  "  It  was  a  cruel  thing  for  him  to 
do." 


HESTER  AND    THE    WILL.  1 97 

"  Yes ;  but  a  far  wickeder,  crueller  thing,  to  poison  his  mind 
with  slanders,  until  he  did  it,"  Roger  replied,  as  he  turned  to 
his  sister,  and  said,  "  Helen,  I  hold  you  guilty  of  my  ruin,  if 
what  Hester  has  told  us  be  true  ;  but  I  shall  not  reproach 
you  ;  I  will  let  your  own  conscience  do  that." 

Mrs.  Irving  tried  to  say  that  Hester  had  spoken  falsely,  that 
she  had  never  worked  upon  the  weak  old  man's  jealousy  of  his 
young  wife  ;  but  she  could  not  quite  utter  so  glaring  a  false 
hood,  knowing  or  believing,  as  she  did,  that  Magdalen  had  the 
letter,  which  might  refute  her  lie.  So  she  assumed  an  air  of 
lofty  dignity,  and  answered  back  that  it  was  unnecessary  to 
continue  the  conversation,  which  had  been  far  more  personal 
than  the  questoins  involved  required,  —  neither  was  it  needful 
to  prolong  the  interview.  The  matter  of  the  will  was  now  be 
tween  him  and  Frank,  and,  with  his  permission,  she  would 
withdraw.  Roger  simply  inclined  his  head,  to  indicate  his 
willingness  for  her  to  leave,  and,  with  a  haughty  bow,  she  swept 
from  the  room,  signalling  to  Frank  to  follow.  But  Frank  did 
not  heed  her.  He  tarried  for  a  few  moments,  standing  close  to 
Roger,  and  mechanically  toying  with  the  pens  and  pencils  upon 
the  table.  He  did  not  feel  at  all  comfortable,  nor  like  a  man 
who  had  suddenly  become  possessed  of  hundreds  of  thousands. 
He  felt  rather  like  a  thief,  or,  at  best,  an  usurper  of  another's 
rights,  and  would  have  been  glad  at  that  moment  had  the  will 
been  lying  in  its  box  under  the  floor,  where  it  had  lain  so  many 
years.  Roger  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Go,  Frank,"  he  said  ;  "  leave  me  alone  for  to-night.  It  is 
better  so.  I  know  what  you  want  to  say,  but  it  can  do  no 
good.  Things  are  as  they  are,  and  we  cannot  change  them, 
I  do  not  blame  you.  Don't  think  I  do.  I  always  liked  you, 
Frank,  always,  since  we  were  boys  together,  and  I  like  you  still ; 
but  leave  me  now.  I  cannot  bear  any  more." 

Roger's  voice  trembled,  and  Frank  could  see  through  the  fast 
gathering  darkness  how  white  his  face  was  and  how  he  wiped 
the  sweat-drops  from  his  forehead  and  lips,  and  wringing  his 
hand  nervously,  he,  too,  went  away,  and  Roger  was  alone. 


193  MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

MAGDALEN   AND    ROGER. 

jjAGDALEN  had  waited  for  Frank  until  she  grew  sa 
nervous  and  restless  that  she  crept  back  to  hex  couch, 
and,  wrapping  her  shawl  about  her,  lay  down  among 
the  pillows,  still  listening  for  Frank's  footsteps  and  wondering 
that  he  did  not  come.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  at  last. 
After  days  and  nights  of  throbbing  headache  and  fierce  heart- 
pangs  and  bitter  tears,  she  had  come  to  a  decision.  She  would 
die  so  willingly  for  Roger,  if  that  would  save  Millbank  for  him. 
She  would  endure  any  pain  or  toil  or  privation  for  him,  but  she 
could  not  sin  for  him.  She  could  not  swear  to  love  and  honor 
one,  when  her  whole  being  was  bound  up  in  another.  She 
could  not  marry  Frank,  but  she  hoped  she  might  persuade  him 
to  let  Roger  keep  Millbank,  while  he  took  the  mill  and  the 
shoe-shop,  and  the  bonds  and  mortgages.  He  would  surely 
listen  to  that  proposition,  and  she  had  sent  for  him  to  hear  her 
decision,  and  then  she  meant  next  day  to  take  the  will  from  its 
hiding  place,  and  carry  it  to  Roger,  with  the  letter  she  guarded 
so  carefully.  This  was  her  decision,  and  she  waited  for  Frank 
until  two  hours  were  gone  and  the  spring  twilight  began  to 
creep  into  the  room,  and  still  no  one  came  near  her.  She 
heard  the  dinner-bell,  and  knew  it  was  not  answered,  and  then, 
as  the  minutes  went  by,  she  became  conscious  of  some  un 
usual  stir  in  the  house  among  the  servants,  and  grasping  the 
bell-rope  at  last,  she  rang  for  Celine,  and  asked  where  Mrs. 
Irving  was. 

"  In  the  library  with  Mr.  Irving  and  Mr.  Frank  and  Hester. 
They  are  talking  very  loud,  and  don't  pay  any  attention  to  the 
dinner  bell,"  was  Celine's  reply,  and  Magdalen  felt  as  if  she  was 
going  to  faint  with  the  terrible  apprehension  of  evil  which 
swept  over  her. 

"  That  will  do.     You  may  go,"  she  said  to  Celine ;  and  then, 


MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER.  1 99 

the  moment  the  girl  was  gone,  she  rose  from  the  couch,  an<? 
knotting  the  heavy  cord  around  her  dressing  gown,  and  adjust 
ing  her  shawl,  went  stealthily  out  into  the  hall,  and  stealing 
softly  down  the  stairs,  soon  stood  near  the  door  of  the  library 

It  was  closed,  but  Hester's  loud  tones  reached  her  as  she 
talked  of  the  will,  and  with  a  shudder  she  turned  away,  whisper 
ing  to  herself: 

"  Too  late  !     He'll  never  believe  me  now." 

Then  a  thought  of  Aleck  crossed  her  mind.  She  did  not 
think  he  was  in  the  library;  possibly  he  was  in  Hester's  room; 
at  all  events  she  would  go  there,  and  wait  for  Hester's  return. 
An  outside  door  stood  open  as  she  passed  through  the  rear  hall 
which  led  to  Hester's  room,  and  she  felt  the  chill  night  air  blow 
on  her,  and  shivered  with  the  cold.  But  she  did  not  think  of 
danger  to  herself  from  the  exposure.  She  only  thought  of 
Roger  and  what  was  transpiring  in  the  library,  and  she  entered 
Hester's  room  hurriedly,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  when  she  saw 
Aleck  there.  He  was  not  smoking  now.  He  was  sitting 
bowed  over  the  hearth,  evidently  wrapped  in  thought,  and  he 
gave  a  violent  start  when  Magdalen  seized  his  arm,  and  asked 
him  what  had  happened. 

He  heard  her,  though  she  spoke  in  a  whisper,  and  turning  his 
eyes  slowly  toward  her,  replied  : 

"  Somebody  has  found  the  will,  and  Roger  is  a  beggar." 

"  Oh,  Aleck,  I  wish  I  was  dead,"  Magdalen  exclaimed,  and 
then  sank  down  upon  the  floor  at  the  old  man's  feet,  sobbing 
in  a  piteous  kind  of  way,  and  trying  to  explain  how  she  had 
found  it  first,  and  how  she  would  give  her  life  if  she  never  had 
done  so. 

In  the  midst  of  her  story  Hester  came  in,  and  Magdalen 
sprang  up  and  started  toward  her,  but  something  in  the  expres  • 
sion  of  the  old  woman's  face  stopped  her  suddenly,  and  grasp 
ing  the  back  of  a  chair,  she  stood  speechless,  while  Hester  gave 
vent  to  a  tirade  of  abuse,  accusing  her  of  ruining  Roger,  taunt 
ing  her  with  vile  ingratitude,  and  bidding  her  take  herself  and 


200  MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER. 

her  lover  back  to  where  she  came  from,  if  that  spot  could  be 
found. 

Perfectly  wild  with  excitement  Magdalen  made  no  effort  to 
explain,  but  darted  past  Hester  out  into  the  hall,  where  the 
first  person  she  encountered  was  Frank,  who  chanced  to  be 
passing  that  way.  She  did  not  try  to  avoid  him  ;  she  was  too 
faint  and  dizzy  for  that,  and  when  asked  what  was  the  matter, 
and  where  she  was  going,  she  answered  : 

"  To  my  room.  Oh,  help  me,  please,  or  I  shall  never  reach 
it." 

He  wound  his  arm  around  her,  and  leaning  heavily  upon 
him  she  went  slowly  down  the  hall,  followed  by  Hester  Floyd, 
who  was  watching  her  movements.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
of  the  will  until  her  chamber  was  reached;  then,  as  Frank 
parted  from  her,  he  said  : 

"  I  think  you  know  that  Roger  has  the  will ;  but  I  did  not 
give  it  to  him.  I  would  have  kept  it  from  him,  if  possible,  and 
it  shall  make  no  difference,  if  I  can  help  it." 

He  held  her  hand  a  moment ;  then  suddenly  stooped  and 
kissed  her  forehead  before  she  could  prevent  the  act,  and 
walked  rapidly  away,  leaving  her  flushed  and  indignant  and 
half  fainting,  as  she  crept  back  to  the  couch.  No  one  came 
near  her  to  light  her  lamp.  No  one  remembered  to  bring  her 
food  or  drink.  Everybody  appeared  to  have  forgotten  and  for 
saken  her,  but  she  preferred  to  be  alone,  and  lay  there  in  the 
darkness  until  Celine  carne  in  to  ask  what  she  would  have. 

"  Nothing,  only  light  the  lamp,  please,"  was  her  reply. 

Then,  after  a  moment,  she  asked : 

"Are  the  family  at  dinner?" 

"Yes ;  that  is,  Mrs.  Irving  and  Mr.  Frank.  Mr.  Irving  is  in 
the  library  alone,"  Celine  said. 

And  then  Magdalen  sat  up  and  asked  the  girl  to  gather  up 
her  hair  decently,  and  give  it  a  brush  or  two,  and  bring  her  a 
clean  collar,  and  her  other  shawl. 

Magdalen  was  going  to  the  library  to  see  Roger,  who  sat 
just  where  Frank  had  left  him,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  tha 


MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER.  2O1 

fatal  paper  which  had  done  him  so  much  harm.  The  blow  had 
fallen  so  suddenly,  and  in  so  aggravating  a  form,  that  it  had 
stunned  him  in  part,  and  he  could  not  realize  the  full  extent  of 
his  calamity.  One  fact,  however,  stood  out  distinctly  before 
his  mind,  "  Magdalen  was  lost  forever ! "  Frank  had  said  openly 
that  she  was  to  be  his  wife  !  She  had  come  to  a  decision. 
She  would  be  the  mistress  of  Millbank,  without  a  doubt.  But 
he  who  had  once  hoped  to  make  her  that  himself,  would  be  fai 
away,  —  a  poor,  unknown  man,  —  earning  his  bread  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow.  Roger  did  not  care  for  that  contingency. 
He  was  willing  to  work ;  but  he  felt  how  much  easier  toil 
would  be  if  it  was  for  Magdalen's  sake  that  he  grew  tired  and 
worn.  He  was  thinking  of  all  this  when  Magdalen  came  to 
his  door,  knocking  so  softly  that  he  did  not  hear  at  first ;  then, 
when  the  knock  was  repeated,  he  made  no  answer  to  it,  for  he 
would  rather  be  left  alone.  Ordinarily,  Magdalen  would  have 
turned  back  without  venturing  to  enter ;  but  she  was  desper 
ate  now.  She  must  see  Roger  that  night,  and  she  resolutely 
turned  the  door-knob  and  went  into  his  presence. 

Roger  lifted  up  his  head  as  she  came  in,  and  then  sprang  to 
his  feet,  startled  by  her  white  face  and  the  change  in  her  ap 
pearance  since  he  saw  her  last.  Then  she  had  stood  before 
ftiiiv  in  the  hall,  winding  the  scarf  around  his  neck,  her  face 
glowing  with  health  and  happiness  and  girlish  beauty,  and  her 
eyes  shining  upon  him  like  stars.  They  were  very  bright  now, 
unnaturally  so  he  thought,  and  there  was  a  glitter  in  them  which 
reminded  him  of  the  woman  in  the  cars  who  had  left  her  baby 
with  him. 

"  Magdalen,"  he  said,  as  he  went  forward  to  meet  her.  "  I 
did  not  think  you  had  been  so  sick  as  your  looks  indicate. 
Let  me  lead  you  to  the  sofa." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  but  she  shook  it  off  and 
sank  into  a  chair  close  beside  the  one  he  had  vacated. 

"  Don't  touch  me  yet,  Roger,  oh  Roger,"  she  began,  and 
Roger's  heart  gave  a  great  leap,  for  never  before  had  she  called 
him  thus  to  his  face.  "  Excuse  me  for  coming  here  to-night. 
9* 


202  MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER. 

I  know  it  is  not  maidenly,  perhaps,  but  I  must  see  you,  and 
tell  you  it  was  all  a  horrible  mistake.  I  did  not  know  what  I 
was  doing.  Hester  talked  so  much  about  that  loose  board  in 
the  garret  and  something  hidden  under  it,  that  once,  a  week  ago 
or  more,  it  seems  a  year  to  me,  I  went  up  to  shut  a  window ; 
my  curiosity  led  me  to  look  under  the  floor,  and  I  found  it, 
Roger,  and  read  it  through,  and  Frank  came  and  surprised  me, 
and  then  the  secret  was  no  longer  mine,  and  I  —  oh,  Mr.  Ir 
ving,  I  wanted  to  keep  it  from  you,  till  —  till  —  I  cannot  explain 
the  whole,  and  I  don't  know  at  all  how  it  came  into  your  hands. 
Can  you  forgive  me,  Roger  ?  I  could  have  burned  it  at  once 
or  had  it  burned,  but  I  dared  not.  Would  you  have  liked  me 
better  if  I  had  destroyed  it  ?  " 

She  stopped  speaking  now,  and  held  her  hands  toward 
Roger,  who  took  them  in  his  own  and  pressed  them  with  a  fer 
vor  which  brought  the  blood  back  to  her  cheeks  and  made  her 
very  beautiful  as  she  sat  there  before  him. 

"  No,  Magda,"  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  did  not  destroy  it. 
I  would  rather  meet  with  poverty  in  its  direct  form  than  know 
that  you  had  done  that  thing ;  for  it  would  have  come  to  light 
some  time,  and  I  should  have  felt  that  in  more  ways  than  one  I 
had  lost  my  little  girl." 

He  was  speaking  to  her  now  as  he  had  done  when  she  was  a 
child,  and  one  of  his  hands  was  smoothing  her  soft  hair ;  but  he 
was  thinking  of  Frank,  and  there  was  nothing  of  the  lover  in 
his  caress,  though  it  made  Magdalen's  blood  throb  and  tingle 
to  her  finger  tips,  for  she  knew  he  did  not  hate  her  as  she  had 
feared  he  might. 

"  The  will  should  never  have  been  hidden,"  he  said. 
"Hester  did  very  wrong.  Do  you  know  the  particulars  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  except  that  I  found  it  and  you  have  it," 
Magdalen  replied,  and  briefly  as  possible  Roger  told  her  the 
substance  of  Hester's  story,  smoothing  over  as  much  as  possi 
ble  Mrs.  Irving' s  guilt,  because  she  was  to  be  Magdalen's 
mother-in-law. 

Before  he  spoke  of  the  letter  left  by  his  father,  Magdalen 


MAGDALEN  AND  ROGER.  203 

had  taken  it  from  her  pocket  and  held  it  in  her  hand.  He 
knew  it  was  the  missing  letter,  but  did  not  offer  to  take  it  until 
his  recital  was  ended,  when  Magdalen  held  it  to  him  and  said, 
"  This  is  the  letter ;  it  was  in  the  box,  and  I  kept  it  to  give  to 
you  myself  in  case  you  should  ever  know  of  the  will.  I  have 
not  read  it.  You  do  not  believe  I  would  read  it,"  she  added 
in  some  alarm,  as  she  saw  a  questioning  look  in  his  face. 

Whatever  he  might  have  suspected,  he  knew  better  now,  and 
he  made  her  lie  down  upon  the  sofa,  and  arranged  the  cushions 
for  her  head,  and  then,  standing  with  his  back  to  her,  opened 
the  letter,  and  read  that  message  from  the  dead.  And  as  he 
read,  he  grew  hard  and  bitter  toward  the  man  who  could  be  so 
easily  swayed  by  a  lying,  deceitful  woman.  He  knew  Magda 
len  was  watching  him,  and  probably  wondering  what  was  in 
the  letter,  and  knew,  too,  that  she  could  not  fully  believe  in 
his  mother's  innocence  without  more  proof  than  his  mere  asser 
tion.  Of  all  the  people  living  he  would  rather  Magdalen 
should  think  well  of  his  mother,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitancy 
he  turned  to  her,  and  said  : 

"  I  want  you  to  see  this,  Magda,  I  want  you  to  know  why 
I  was  disinherited,  and  then  you  must  hear  my  poor  mother's 
letter,  and  judge  yourself  if  she  was  guilty." 

He  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  so  as  not  to  be  interrupted, 
and  then  came  back  to  Magdalen,  who  had  risen  to  a  sitting 
posture,  and  who  took  the  letter  from  his  hand  while  he  ad 
justed  the  shade  so  that  the  glare  of  the  lamp  would  not  shine 
directly  in  her  eyes  as  she  read  it. 


204  'SQUIRE  IRVING' S  LETTER. 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

'SQUIRE  IRVING'S  LETTER. 

T  was  dated  the  very  night  preceding  the  morning 
when  Squire  Irving  had  been  found  dead  by  Aleck 
Floyd,  and  it  commenced  much  like  the  one  which 

Roger  had  guarded  so  religiously  as  his  father's  last  message 

to  him : 

"MlLLBANK,    April—. 

"My  DEAR  BOY,  —  For  many  days  I  have  been  haunted 
with  a  presentiment  that  I  have  not  much  longer  to  live.  My 
heart  is  badly  diseased,  and  I  may  drop  away  any  minute,  and 
as  death  begins  to  stare  me  in  the  face,  my  thoughts  turn  toward 
you,  the  boy  whom  I  have  been  so  proud  of  and  loved  so  much. 
You  don't  remember  your  mother,  Roger,  and  you  don't  know 
how  I  loved  her,  she  was  so  beautiful  and  artless,  and  seemed 
so  innocent,  with  her  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair.  Her  home 
was  among  the  New  Hampshire  hills,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so 
from  the  little  rural  town  of  Schodick,  whose  delightful  scenery 
and  pure  mountain  air  years  ago  attracted  visitors  there  during 
the  summer  months.  Her  father  was  poor  and  old  and  infirm, 
and  his  farm  was  mortgaged  for  more  than  it  was  worth,  and 
the  mortgage  was  about  to  be  foreclosed,  when,  by  chance,  I 
became  an  inmate  for  a  few  weeks  of  the  farmhouse.  I  was 
stopping  in  Schodick,  the  hotel  was  full,  and  I  boarded  with 
Jessie's  father.  He  had  taken  boarders  before,  —  one  a  young 
man,  Arthur  Grey,  a  fast,  fashionable,  fascinating  man,  who 
made  love  to  Jessie,  a  mere  child  of  sixteen.  Her  letter, 
which  I  inclose,  will  tell  you  the  particulars  of  her  acquaint 
ance  with  him,  so  it  is  not  needful  that  I  go  over  with  them. 
I  knew  nothing  of  Arthur  Grey  at  the  time  I  was  at  the  farm 
house,  except  that  I  sometimes  heard  him  mentioned  as  a 
reckless,  dashing  young  man.  I  was  there  during  the  months 
of  August  and  September.  I  had  an  attack  of  heart  disease, 


'SQUIRE  IRVIN&S  LETTER.  2OH 

and  Jessie  nursed  me  through  it,  her  soft  hands  and  gentle 
ways  and  deep  blue  eyes  weaving  around  me  a  spell  I  could 
not  break.  She  was  poor,  but  a  lady  every  whit,  and  I  loved 
her  better  than  I  had  ever  loved  a  human  being  before,  and  I 
wanted  her  for  my  wife.  As  I  have  said,  her  father  was  old 
and  poor,  and  the  farm  was  mortgaged  to  a  remorseless  credi 
tor.  They  would  be  homeless  when  it  was  sold,  and  so  I 
bought  Jessie,  and  her  father  kept  his  home.  I  know  now 
that  it  was  a  great  mistake  ;  know  why  Jessie  fainted  when  the 
plan  was  first  proposed  to  her,  but  I  did  not  suspect  it  then. 
Her  father  said  she  was  in  the  habit  of  fainting,  and  tried  to 
make  light  of  it.  He  was  anxious  for  the  match,  and  shut  his 
eyes  to  his  daughter's  aversion  to  it. 

"I  brought  her  to  Millbank  in  December,  and  within  the 
year  you  were  born.  I  heard  nothing  of  Arthur  Grey.  I  only 
knew  that  Jessie  was  not  happy ;  satins  and  pearls  and  dia 
monds  could  not  drive  that  sad,  hungry  look  from  her  eyes, 
and  I  took  her  for  a  change  to  Saratoga,  and  there  she  met  the 
villain  again,  and  as  the  result  she  left  Millbank  to  go  with  him 
to  Europe.  In  a  few  days  she  was  drowned,  and  her  letter 
written  on  the  '  Sea  Gull '  was  sent  to  me  by  that  accursed  man 
who,  when  she  tried  to  escape  him,  followed  her  to  the  ship 
bound  for  Charleston.  I  believe  that  part,  and  a  doubt  of 
your  legitimacy  never  entered  my  heart  until  Walter's  wife  put 
it  there.  I  had  made  my  will,  and  given  nearly  all  to  you, 
when  Helen,  who  was  here  a  few  months  ago,  began  one  day 
to  talk  of  Jessie,  very  kindly,  as  I  remember,  and  seemed  try 
ing  to  find  excuses  for  what  she  called  her  sin,  and  then  said 
she  was  so  glad  that  I  had  always  been  kind  to  the  poor  inno 
cent  boy  who  was  not  to  blame  for  his  mother's  error.  I 
came  gradually  to  understand  her,  though  she  said  but  little 
which  could  be  repeated,  but  I  knew  that  she  doubted  your 
legitimacy,  and  she  gave  me  reason  to  doubt  it  too,  by  hinting 
that  Arthur  Grey  had  been  seen  in  Belvidere  more  than  once 
after  Jessie's  marriage.  Her  husband,  Walter,  was  her  inform 
ant  ;  but  she  had  promised  secrecy,  as  he  wished  to  spare  me, 


206  ' 'SQUIRE  IR VI NO'S  LETTER. 

and  so  she  could  not  be  explicit.  But  I  had  heard  enough  tc 
drive  me  mad  with  jealousy  and  rage,  and  I  made  another  will, 
and  gave  you  little  more  than  the  Morton  farm,  which,  when 
Jessie's  father  died,  as  he  did  the  day  when  you  were  born,  1 
bought  to  please  your  mother.  I  was  wild  with  anger  when  I 
made  that  will,  and  my  love  for  you  has  ever  since  kept  tug 
ging  at  my  heart,  and  has  prevented  me  from  destroying  the 
first  will,  as  I  twice  made  up  my  mind  to  do.  To-day  I  have 
read  your  mother's  letter  again,  and  I  have  forgiven  Jessie  at 
last,  though  Helen's  insinuations  still  rankle  in  my  mind.  But 
I  have  repented  of  leaving  you  so  little,  and  have  sent  for 
young  Schofield  to  change  my  last  will,  and  make  you  equal 
with  Frank. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  never  see  you  again,  for  something  about 
my  heart  warns  me  that  my  days  are  numbered,  and  what  I  do 
for  you  must  be  done  quickly.  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  wronged 
your  mother,  and  forgive  me  doubly,  trebly,  if  in  wronging  her 
I  have  dealt  cruelly,  unnaturally  by  you,  my  darling,  my  pride, 
my  boy,  whom  I  love  so  much  in  spite  of  everything ;  for  I  do, 
Roger,  I  certainly  do,  and  I  feel  even  now  that  if  you  were 
here  beside  me,  the  sight  of  your  d^ar  face  would  tempt  me  to 
burn  the  later  will  and  reacknowledge  the  first. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  Roger.  Heaven  give  you  every  pos 
sible  good  which  you  may  crave,  and  if  in  the  course  of  your 
life  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  which  you  desire,  I 
pray  Heaven  to  give  it  to  you.  I  wish  Schofield  was  here 
now.  There  is  a  dreadful  feeling  in  my  head,  a  cold,  prickling 
sensation  in  my  arms,  and  I  must  stop,  while  I  have  power  to 
sign  myself, 

"  Yours  lovingly  and  affectionately, 

"WILLIAM  H.  IRVING." 

This  was  the  letter,  and  the  old  man  must  have  been  bat 
tling  with  death  as  he  wrote  it,  and  with  the  tracing  of  Roger's 
name  the  pen  must  have  dropped  from  his  nerveless  fingers, 
and  his  spirit  taken  its  flight  to  the  world  where  poor,  wronged 


'SQUIRE  IRVING' S  LETTER.  2O? 

Jessie  had  gone  before  him.  The  fact  that  she  was  innocent 
did  not  prevent  her  child  from  receiving  the  punishment  of  her 
seeming  guilt,  and  at  first  every  word  of  his  father's  letter  had 
been  like  so  many  stabs,  making  his  pain  harder  than  ever  to 
bear.  Magdalen  comprehended  it  in  full,  and  pitied  him  now 
more  than  she  had  before. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Mr.  Irving ;  sorrier  than  I  was 
about  the  will,"  she  said,  moving  a  little  nearer  to  him. 

He  looked  quickly  at  her,  and  guessing  of  what  he  was 
thinking,  she  rejoined : 

"  Don't  imagine  for  a  moment  that  I  distrust  your  mother. 
I  know  she  was  innocent  and  I  hate  the  woman  who  breathed 
the  vile  slander  against  her." 

"  Hush,  Magda,  that  woman  is  Frank's  mother,"  Roger  said, 
gently,  and  Magdalen  replied  : 

"  I  know  she  is,  and  your  sister-in-law.  I  did  not  think  of 
the  relationship  when  I  spoke,  or  suppose  you  would  care." 

She  either  did  not  or  would  not  understand  him,  and  she 
went  on  to  speak  of  Jessie  and  the  man  who  had  been  her 
ruin. 

"  Grey,"  she  repeated,  "  Arthur  Grey  !  It  surely  cannot  be 
Alice's  father?" 

Roger  did  not  know.  He  had  never  thought  of  that.  "  I 
never  saw  him,"  he  said,  "  and  never  wish  to  see  him  or  his. 
I  could  not  treat  him  civilly.  There  is  more  about  him  here 
in  mother's  letter.  She  loved  him  with  a  woman's  strange 
infatuation,  and  her  love  gives  a  soft  coloring  to  what  she  has 
written.  I  have  never  shown  it  to  a  human  being,  but  I  want 
you  to  read  it,  Magda,  or  rather  let  me  read  it  to  you." 

He  was  not  angry  with  her,  Magdalen  knew,  and  she  felt  as 
if  a  great  burden  had  been  lifted  fi'om  her  as  she  listened  to  the 
letter  written  thirty  years  before. 


2O8  JESSIE'S  LETTER. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

JESSIE'S  LETTER. 

T  was  dated  on  board  the  "  Sea  Gull "  and  began  as 
follows : 

"  My  husband  :  —  It  would  be  mockery  for  me  to  put  the 
word  dear  before  your  honored  name.  You  would  not  be 
lieve  I  meant  it  when  I  have  sinned  against  you  so  deeply  and 
wounded  your  pride  so  sorely.  But  oh,  if  you  knew  all  which 
led  me  to  what  I  am,  you  would  pity  me  even  if  you  condemned, 
for  you  were  always  kind,  too  kind  by  far  to  a  wicked  girl 
like  me.  But  I  am  not  so  bad  as  you  imagine.  I  have  left 
you,  I  know,  and  left  my  darling  baby,  and  he  is  here  with  me, 
but  by  no  consent  of  mine.  I  am  not  going  to  Europe.  I  am 
going  to  Charleston,  where  Lucy  is,  and  shall  mail  this  letter 
from  there.  Every  word  I  write  will  be  true,  and  you  must  be 
lieve  it  and  teach  Roger  to  believe  it,  too,  for  I  have  not  sinned 
as  you  suppose,  and  Roger  need  not  blush  for  his  mother 
except  that  she  deserted  him.  I  am  writing  this  quite  as  much 
for  him  as  for  you,  for  I  want  him  to  know  something  of  his 
mother  as  she  was  years  ago,  when  she  lived  among  the  Scho- 
dick  hills,  in  the  dear  old  house  which  I  have  dreamed  about  so 
often,  and  which  even  here  on  the  sea  comes  up  so  vividly 
before  me,  with  the  orchard  where  the  mountain  shadows  fell  so 
early  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  meadows  where  the  buttercups 
and  clover-blossoms  grew.  Oh,  I  grow  sick,  and  faint,  and 
dizzy  when  I  think  of  those  happy  days  and  contrast  myself  as 
I  was  then  with  myself  as  I  am  now.  I  was  so  happy,  though 
I  knew  what  poverty  meant ;  but  that  did  not  matter.  Children, 
if  surrounded  by  loving  friends,  do  not  mind  being  poor,  and  I 
did  not  mind  it  either  until  I  grew  old  enough  to  see  how  it 
troubled  my  father.  My  mother,  as  you  know,  died  before  I 
could  remember  her,  and  my  aunt  Mary,  my  father's  only 


JESSIE'S  LETTER.  2CX) 

sister,  and  cousin  Lucy's  mother,  took  her  place  and  cared  fo» 
me. 

"  The  summer  before  you  came  to  us,  I  met  Arthur  Grey. 
He  was  among  the  visitors  who  boarded  at  the  hotel.  He  was 
said  to  be  very  rich,  very  aristocratic,  very  fastidious.  You 
never  saw  him,  and  cannot  understand  the  strange  fascination 
there  was  about  him,  or  how  his  manner,  when  he  chose  to  be 
gracious,  was  calculated  to  win  upon  a  simple  girl  like  me.  I 
met  him,  and,  ere  I  was  aware  of  it,  he  taught  me  how  to  love 
him.  He  became  an  inmate  of  our  house  at  last,  and  thus  our 
growing  fondness  for  each  other  was  hidden  from  the  public, 
which  would  have  said  that  I  was  no  match  for  him.  I  know 
that  he  loved  me.  I  never  doubted  that  for  a  moment.  De 
ception  can  assume  many  garbs,  but  never  the  guise  he  wore 
when  he  won  my  girlish  love.  He  asked  me  to  be  his  wife  one 
autumn  night,  when  the  Indian  summer  haze  was  on  the  hills, 
and  the  mountain  tops  were  gorgeous  with  scarlet  and  gold.  I 
had  never  dreamed  that  a  human  being  could  be  as  happy  as  I 
was  when,  with  him  at  my  side,  I  walked  back  across  the  fields  to 
our  home.  The  very  air  around  seemed  full  of  the  ecstatic  joy 
I  felt  as  I  thought  of  a  life  spent  with  him.  He  wished  me  to 
keep  our  betrothal  a  secret  for  a  time,  he  said,  as  he  did  not 
care  to  have  his  mother  and  sisters  know  of  it  just  then.  They 
were  at  the  hotel  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  used  to  see  them  at 
church  ;  and  their  cold,  haughty  manner  impressed  me  disagree 
ably,  just  as  it  did  every  one  who  came  in  contact  with  them. 
I  should  not  live  with  them,  Arthur  said.  I  should  have  a 
home  of  my  own  on  the  Hudson.  He  had  just  bought  a  resi 
dence  there,  and  he  described  it  to  me  until  I  knew  every  tree, 
and  shrub,  and  winding  walk  upon  the  place. 
'  "  Then  he  went  away,  and  the  dreary  winter  came,  and  his 
letters,  so  frequent  at  first,  began  to  come  irregularly,  but  were 
always  loving  and  tender,  and  full  of  excuses  for  the  long  delay. 
Once  I  heard  of  fierce  opposition  from  his  mother  and  sister, 
and  a  desire  on  their  part  to  persuade  him  into  a  more  brilliant 
marriage.  But  I  trusted  him  fully  until  the  spring,  when  after 


2IO  JESS 'IE S  LETTER. 

a  longer  interval  of  silence  than  usual  there  came  a  letter  from 
his  mother,  who  wrote  at  her  son's  request,  as  he  was  ill  and 
unable  to  write  himself.  I  was  still  very  dear  to  him,  she  said, 
but  considering  all  things  he  thought  it  better  for  us  both  that 
the  engagement  should  be  broken.  I  had  been  brought  up  sd 
differently,  that  he  did  not  believe  I  would  ever  be  happy  in  the 
society  in  which  he  moved,  and  it  was  really  doing  me  a  kind 
ness  to  leave  me  where  I  was ;  still,  if  I  insisted,  he  was  in  honor 
bound  to  adhere  to  his  promise,  and  should  do  so. 

"  I  pass  over  the  pain,  and  bitter  disappointment,  and  dread 
ful  days,  when,  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods  where  I  had  walked 
so  often  with  him,  I  laid  my  face  in  the  grass  and  wished  that  I 
could  die.  I  did  not  write  him  a  word,  but  I  sent  him  back 
his  letters,  and  the  ring,  and  every  memento  of  those  blissful 
hours  ;  and  the  few  who  knew  of  my  engagement  guessed  that 
it  was  broken,  and  said  it  had  ended  as  they  expected. 

"Then  you  came,  just  when  my  heart  was  so  sore,  and  you 
were  kind  to  father,  and  sought  me  of  him  for  your  wife,  and  he 
begged  me  to  consider  your  proposal,  and  save  him  his  home 
for  his  old  age.  Then  I  went  again  into  the  shadow  of  those 
woods,  and  crept  away  behind  a  rock,  under  a  luxuriant  pine, 
and  prayed  that  I  might  know  what  was  right  for  me  to  do. 
My  father  foum:,  me  there  one  day  and  took  me  home,  and 
said  I  need  nor  marry  you.  He  would  rather  end  his  days  in 
the  poorhouse  xhan  see  me  so  distressed.  But  the  sight  of  his 
dear  old  face  growing  so  white,  and  thin,  as  the  time  for  the 
foreclosure  drevv  near,  was  more  than  I  could  bear,  and  it 
mattered  little  what  I  did  in  the  future ;  so  I  went  to  you  and 
said  '  I  will  be  your  wife,  and  do  the  best  I  can  ;  but  you  must 
be  patient  with  me.  I  am  only  a  little  girl.' 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  of  Arthur,  but  I  did  not,  and  so 
trouble  came  of  it.  We  were  married  in  the  morning,  and  went 
to  Boston,  and  then  back  for  a  few  days  to  Schodick,  where 
there  was  a  letter  for  me,  from  Arthur.  It  was  all  a  terrible 
deception  :  J.e  had  had  a  long,  long  illness,  and  his  mother,  — 
3.  cruel,  artful  woman,  —  took  advantage  of  it  and  wrote  me 


JESSIE'S  LETTER.  211 

« 

that  cruel  letter.  Then,  when  my  package  reached  her,  and 
she  found  there  was  no  word  of  protest  in  it,  she  gave  it  to  him, 
and  worked  upon  him  in  his  weak  condition  until  he  believed 
me  false,  and  the  excitement  brought  on  a  relapse  which  lasted 
longer  and  was  more  dangerous  than  his  first  illness  had  been 
As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  hold  his  pen,  he  wrote  to  me  again  ; 
but  his  mother  managed  to  withhold  the  letter,  and  so  the  time 
went  on  until,  by  chance,  he  discovered  the  deception,  but-  it 
was  too  late.  I  was  your  wife.  I  am  your  wife  now,  and  so 
I  must  not  tell  you  of  that  terrible  hour  of  anguish  in  my  room 
at  home,  when  cousin  Lucy,  who  was  then  at  our  house,  found 
me  fainting  on  the  floor  with  the  letter  in  my  hand.  I  told  her 
everything,  for  we  were  to  each  other  as  sisters ;  but  with  that 
exception,  no  living  being  has  ever  heard  my  story.  I  asked 
her  to  send  him  a  paper  containing  the  notice  of  my  marriage, 
and  that  was  all  the  answer  I  returned  to  his  letter. 

"  Then  you  took  me  to  Millbank,  and  I  tried  to  do  my  duty, 
even  though  my  heart  was  broken.  After  Roger  came,  I  was 
happier,  and  I  appreciated  all  your  kindness,  and  the  pain  was 
not  so  hard  to  bear,  till  we  went  to  Saratoga  that  summer, 
where  I  met  him  again. 

"  He  loved  me  still,  and  we  talked  it  over  together,  some 
times  when  you  were  sleeping  after  dinner,  and  nights  when  you 
were  playing  billiards.  There  is  so  much  of  that  kind  of  thing 
at  Saratoga  that  one's  sense  of  right  and  wrong  is  easily  blunted 
there,  and  I  was  so  young ;  still  this  is  no  excuse.  I  ought  not 
to  have  listened  for  a  moment,  especially  after  he  began  to  talk 
of  Italy  and  a  cottage  by  the  sea,  where  no  one  would  know  us. 
I  was  his  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  he  said.  I  was  committing  sin 
by  living  with  you.  I  was  more  his  wife  than  yours,  and  he 
made  me  believe  that  if  once  I  left  you,  a  divorce  could  easily 
be  obtained,  and  then  there  would  be  nothing  in  the  way  of  our 
marriage.  I  caught  at  that  idea  and  listened  to  it,  and  from 
that  moment  my  fate  was  sealed.  But  I  never  contemplated 
anything  but  marriage  with  him,  when  at  last  I  consented  to 
leave  you.  I  wanted  to  take  Roger,  and  went  on  my  knees  to 


212  JESSIE'S  LETTER. 

him,  begging  that  I  might  have  my  baby,  but  he  would  not  con- 
sent.  A  child  would  be  in  the  way,  he  said,  and  I  must  choose 
between  him  and  my  boy.  His  influence  over  me  was  so  great 
that  I  would  have  walked  into  the  fire  with  him  then,  had  he 
willed  it  so. 

"  I  left  Millbank  at  night,  intending  to  meet  Arthur  in  New 
York,  and  go  at  once  to  the  steamer  bound  for  Liverpool,  but 
on  the  way  thoughts  of  my  baby  sleeping  in  his  crib,  with  that 
smile  on  his  lips  when  I  kissed  him  last,  came  to  save  me,  and 
at  New  Haven  I  left  the  train  and  took  the  boat  for  New  York, 
and  went  to  another  hotel  than  the  one  where  he  was  waiting 
for  me.  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  meant  to  do,  except  to  avoid 
him,  until,  as  I  sat  waiting  for  a  room,  I  heard  some  people 
talking  of  the  '  Sea  Gull,'  which  wasto  leave  the  next  day  for 
Charleston.  Then,  I  said,  '  Heaven  has  opened  for  me  that 
way  of  escape.  I  dare  not  go  back  to  Millbank.  My  husband 
would  not  receive  me  now.  Lucy  is  in  Charleston.  She 
knows  my  story.  I  will  go  to  her,'  and  so  yesterday,  when  the 
'  Sea  Gull'  dropped  down  the  harbor,  I  was  in  it,  and  he  was  there 
too ;  but  I  did  not  know  it  till  we  had  been  hours  upon  the 
sea,  and  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  go  back.  He  had  wondered 
that  I  did  not  come  according  to  appointment,  and  was  walking 
down  Broadway  when  he  saw  me  leave  the  hotel,  and  called  a 
carriage  at  once  and  followed  me  to  the  boat,  guessing  that  it 
was  my  intention  to  avoid  him.  I  have  told  him  of  my  resolve, 
and  when  Charleston  is  reached,  we  shall  part  forever. 

"  This  is  the  truth,  my  husband,  and  I  want  you  to  believe 
it.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  take  me  back.  You  are  too  proud 
for  that,  and  I  know  it  can  never  be,  but  I  want  you  to  think 
as  kindly  of  me  as  you  can,  and  when  you  feel  that  you  have 
forgiven  me,  show  this  letter  to  Roger,  if  he  is  old  enough  to 
understand  it.  Tell  him  to  forgive  me,  and  give  him  this  lock 
of  his  mother's  hair.  Heaven  bless  and  keep  my  little  boy,  and 
grant  that  he  may  be  a  comfort  to  you  and  grow  up  a  good  and 
noble  man.  Perhaps  I  may  see  him  sometime.  If  not,  my 
blessing  be  with  him  always." 


JESSIE'S  LETTER.  21 J 

"  This  is  all  of  mother's  letter,  but  there  is  a  postscript  from 
him.  Shall  I  read  that,  too  ?  "  Roger  asked,  and  Magdalen  said 
yes ;  and  then,  as  he  held  the  letter  near  to  her,  she  saw  the 
bold,  masculine  handwriting  of  Arthur  Grey,  who  had  written  .- 

"SQUIRE  IRVING  —  DEAR  SIR  —  It  becomes  my  painful  duty 
to  inform  you  that  not  long  after  the  inclosed  letter  fro;n  your 
wife  was  finished,  a  fire  broke  out  and  spread  so  fast  that  all 
hope  of  escape  except  by  the  life-boats  was  cut  off.  Your 
wife  felt  from  the  first  a  presentiment  that  she  should  be 
drowned,  and  brought  the  letter  to  me,  asking  that  if  I  escaped, 
and  she  did  not,  I  would  forward  it  at  once  to  Millbank.  I 
took  the  letter  and  I  tried  to  save  her,  when  the  sea  ingulfed  us 
both,  but  a  tremendous  wave  carried  her  beyond  my  reach,  and 
I  saw  her  golden  hair  rise  once  above  the  water  and  then  go 
down  forever.  I,  with  a  few  others,  was  saved  as  by  a  miracle, 
—  picked  up  by  a  vessel  bound  for  New  York,  which  place  I 
reached  yesterday.  I  have  read  Jessie's  letter.  She  told  me 
to  do  so,  and  to  add  my  testimony  to  the  truth  of  what  she  had 
written.  Even  if  it  were  not  true,  it  would  be  wrong  to  refuse 
the  request  of  one  so  lovely  and  dear  to  me  as  Jessie  was,  and 
I  accordingly  do  as  she  bade  me,  and  say  to  you  that  she  has 
written  you  the  truth. 

"  I  have  the  honor,  sir,  to  be 

"Your  obedient  servant, 

"ARTHUR  GREY." 

Not  a  word  of  excuse  for  himself,  or  regret  for  the  part  he 
had  had  in  effecting  poor  Jessie's  death.  He  could  scarcely 
have  written  less  than  he  did,  and  the  cold,  indifferent  wording  of 
his  message  struck  Magdalen  just  as  it  did  Roger.  She  had  wept 
over  poor  Jessie's  story,  and  pitied  the  young,  desolate  crea 
ture  who  had  been  so  cruelly  wronged.  And  she  had  pitied 
Arthur  Grey  at  first,  and  her  heart  had  gone  out  after  him  with 
a  strange,  inexplicable  feeling  of  sympathy.  But  when  it  came 
to  Saratoga  and  Italy,  and  all  the  seductive  arts  he  must  have 
used  to  tempt  Jessie  from  her  husband  and  child,  and  when  she 


214  y ESSIE'S  LETTER. 

heard  the  message  he  had  sent  to  the  outraged  husband,  her 
blood  boiled  with  indignation,  and  she  felt  that  if  she  were  to 
see  him  then,  she  must  curse  him  to  his  face.  While  Rogei 
had  been  reading  of  him,  her  mind  had,  for  some  cause,  gone 
back  to  that  Saturday  afternoon,  in  the  graveyard,  when  she 
met  the  handsome  stranger  whose  courteous  manners  had  so 
fascinated  her,  and  who  had  been  so  interested  in  everything 
pertaining  to  the  Irving  family.  Suddenly  it  came  to  her  that 
this  was  Arthur  Grey,  and,  with  a  start,  she  exclaimed  :  "  I 
have  seen  that  man,  —  I  know  I  have.  I  saw  him  at  youi 
father's  grave  years  and  years  ago." 

Roger  looked  inquiringly  at  her  as  she  explained  the  circum 
stances  of  her  interview  with  the  stranger,  telling  of  his  ques 
tions  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Irving  and  his  apparent  interest  in 
her,  and  when  she  had  finished  her  story,  he  said,  "  Is  it  your 
impression  that  he  was  ever  in  Belvidere  before  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  never  was,"  Magdalen  replied.  "  He  told  me 
so  himself,  and  I  should  have  known  it  without  his  telling,  he 
seemed  so  much  a  stranger  to  everything  and  everybody." 

Roger  knew  that  every  word  his  sister  had  breathed  against 
his  mother  was  a  lie,  but  Magdalen's  involuntary  testimony 
helped  to  comfort  and  reassure  him  as  nothing  else  had  done. 
The  clause  which  read  "  the  boy  known  as  Roger  Lennox  Ir 
ving  "  did  not  especially  trouble  him  now.  though  he  could  not 
then  forgive  the  father  who  had  wronged  him  so,  and  when 
he  thought  of  him  there  came  back  to  his  face  the  same 
sad,  sorry  look  it  had  worn  when  Magdalen  first  came  in, 
and  which  while  talking  to  her  had  gradually  passed  away. 
She  detected  it  at  once,  and  connecting  it  with  the  will 
said  to  him  again,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Irving,  it  would  have  been  better 
if  I  had  never  come  here.  I  have  only  brought  sorrow  and 
ruin  to  you." 

"  No,  Magda,"  Roger  replied,  "it  would  not  have  been  bet 
ter  if  you  had  never  come  here.  You  have  made  me  very 
happy,  so  happy  that — "  he  could  not  get  any  further  for  some 
thing  in  his  throat  which  prevented  his  utterance. 


JESSIE'S  LETTER,  21$ 

She  had  brought  him  sorrow,  and  yet  he  would  not  for  the 
world  have  failed  of  knowing  how  sweet  it  was  to  love  her  even  if 
she  could  not  be  his.  If  he  could  have  kept  her  and  taken  hei 
with  him  to  his  home  among  the  hills,  he  felt  that  he  would  have 
parted  willingly  with  his  fortune  and  beautiful  Millbank.  But 
that  could  not  be.  She  belonged  to  Frank ;  everything  was 
Frank's,  and  for  an  instant  the  whole  extent  of  his  calamity 
swept  over  him  so  painfully  that  he  succumbed  to  it,  and  laying 
his  face  upon  the  table  sobbed  just  as  piteously  as  he  had  done 
in  the  first  moment  of  surprise  and  pain  when  he  heard  that 
both  fortune  and  name  were  gone.  Magdalen  could  not  under 
stand  all  the  causes  of  his  distress.  She  did  not  dream  that  every 
sob  and  eve.-y  tear  wrung  from  the  strong  man  was  given  more 
to  her  than  to  the  fortune  lost,  and  she  tried  to  comfort  him  as 
best  she  could,  thinking  once  to  tell  him  how  willingly  she  would 
toil  and  slave  to  make  his  new  home  attractive,  deeming  no 
self-denial  too  great  if  by  its  means  he  could  be  made  happier 
and  more  comfortable.  But  she  did  not  dare  do  this  until  she 
knew  whether  she  was  wanted  in  that  home  among  the  Schodick 
hills  where  he  said  he  was  going.  Oh,  how  she  wished  he 
would  give  some  hint  that  he  expected  her  to  go  with  him ;  but 
he  did  not,  and  he  kept  his  face  hidden  so  long  that  she  came 
at  last  to  his  side,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  bent 
over  him  with  words  of  sympathy.  Then,  as  he  did  not  look 
up,  she  knelt  beside  him,  and  her  hand  found  its  way  to  his,  and 
she  called  him  Roger  again,  and  begged  him  not  to  feel  so 
badly. 

"You  will  drive  me  mad  with  remorse,"  she  said,  "for  I 
know  I  have  done  it  all.  Don't,  Roger,  it  breaks  my  heart  to 
see  you  so  distressed.  What  can  I  do  to  prove  how  sorry  I 
am  ?  Tell  me  and  I  will  do  it,  even  to  the  taking  of  my  life." 

It  did  not  seem  possible  that  this  girl  pleading  thus  with  him 
could  be  another's  betrothed,  and  for  a  moment  Roger  lost 
all  self-control,  and  forgetting  Frank  and  his  rights  snatched 
her  to  his  arms  and  pressing  her  to  his  bosom  rained  kiss  after 
kiss  upon  her  forehead  and  lips,  saying  to  her,  "  My  darling,  my 


2l6  THE    WORLD  ANL    THE    WILL. 

darling,  you  have  been  a  blessing  and  a  comfort  to  me  all  your 
life,  but  there's  nothing  you  can  do  for  me  now.  Once  I 
hoped  —  oh,  Magda,  my  little  girl,  that  time  is  far  in  the  past ; 
I  hope  for  nothing  now.  I  am  not  angry  with  you.  I  could 
not  be  so  if  I  would.  I  bless  you  for  all  you  have  been  to  me. 
I  hope  you  will  be  happy  here  at  Millbank  when  I  am  gone ; 
and  now  go,  my  darling.  You  are  shivering  with  cold  and  the 
room  is  very  damp.  God  bless  you,  Magda." 

He  led  her  out  into  the  hall,  then  closed  the  door  upon  her, 
and  went  back  again  to  his  solitude  and  his  sorrow,  while  Mag 
dalen,  bewildered  and  frightened  and  wearied  out,  found  her 
way  as  best  she  could  to  her  own  room,  where  a  few  moments 
later  Ol'ue  found  her  fainting  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   WORLD   AND    THE   WILL. 

|HE  world,  or  that  portion  of  it  represented  by  Belvi- 
dere,  did  not  receive  it  kindly,  and  when  the  new  heir 
appeared  in  the  street  on  the  day  succeeding  the  events 
narrated  in  the  last  chapter,  he  was  conscious  of  a  certain  air  of 
constraint  and  stiffness  about  those  whom  he  met,  and  an  evi 
dent  attempt  to  avoid  him.  It  was  known  all  over  town  by 
that  time,  for  Roger  had  made  no  secret  of  the  matter,  and  an 
hour  after  Magdalen  left  him,  he  had  sent  for  all  the  servants, 
and  told  them  briefly  of  his  changed  condition.  He  entered 
into  no  particulars ;  he  merely  said  : 

"  My  father  saw  fit  to  make  a  later  will  than  the  one  found 
at  the  time  of  his  death.  In  it  he  gave  Millbank  and  all  its 
appurtenances  to  Frank,  as  the  child  of  his  eldest  son,  my 
brother  Walter.  This  later  will,  of  whose  existence  I  did  not 
know,  has  recently  been  fcund,  and  by  virtue  of  it  everything 


THE    WORLD  AND    THE    WILL. 

goes  to  Frank,  who  is  the  rightful  owner  of  Millbank,  or  will  b? 
when  the  will  is  proved.  You  have  served  me  faithfully,  some 
of  you  for  years,  and  I  shall  never  forget  your  unvarying  kind 
ness  and  fidelity.  The  amount  of  wages  due  each  of  you  1 
shall  venture  to  pay  from  money  kept  for  that  purpose.  My 
nephew  will  allow  me  to  do  that,  and  then,  so  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned,  you  are  at  liberty  to  seek  new  situations.  Our  relations 
as  employer  and  servant  are  at  an  end.  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
talk  about  it,  or  to  express  your  sympathy  for  me.  I  could  not 
bear  it  now,  so  please  do  not  trouble  me." 

This  last  he  said  because  of  the  murmur  of  discontent  and 
surprise  and  dissatisfaction  which  ran  through  the  room  when 
those  assembled  first  learned  that  they  must  part  with  theii 
master,  whom  they  had  loved  and  respected  so  long. 

"  We  will  not  leave  you,  Mr.  Irving.  We  will  go  where  you 
go.  We  will  work  for  you  for  less  wages  than  for  anybody  else," 
was  what  the  house  servants  said  to  him,  and  what  many  of  his 
factory  and  shop  hands  said  when  next  day  he  met  them  in  front 
of  the  huge  mill  where  they  were  congregated. 

He  had  told  his  servants  not  to  talk  of  his  affairs,  but  they 
did  not  heed  him  ;  while  Hester  Floyd,  whom  no  one  could  con 
trol,  discussed  the  matter  freely,  so  that  by  noon  the  little  town 
was  rife  with  rumors  of  every  kind,  and  knots  of  people  gathered 
at  the  corners  of  the  street,  while  in  front  of  the  cotton  mill  a 
vast  concourse  had  assembled  even  before  the  bell  rang  for 
twelve,  and  instead  of  going  home  to  the  dinner  they  would 
hardly  have  found  prepared  that  day,  they  stood  talking  of  the 
strange  news,  which  had  come  to  them  in  so  many  different 
forms.  That  there  had  been  some  undue  influence  brought  to 
bear  upon  Squire  Irving,  they  knew ;  and  that  the  mother  of 
the  new  heir  was  the  guilty  party  who  had  slandered  the  Squire's 
unfortunate  young  wifej  they  also  knew ;  and  many  and  loud 
were  their  imprecations  against  the  woman  whose  proud 
haughty  bearing  had  never  impressed  them  favorably,  and  whom 
they  now  disliked  with  all  the  unrestrained  bitterness  common 
to  their  class. 

10 


2l8  THE    WORLD  AND    THE    WILL. 

All  had  heard  of  Jessie  Irving,  and  a  few  remembered  her  as 
she  was  when  she  first  came  among  them,  in  her  bright,  girlish 
beauty,  with  those  great,  sad  blue  eyes,  which  always  smiled 
kindly  upon  her  husband's  employes  when  she  met  with  them. 
As  people  will  do,  they  had  repeated  her  story  many  times,  and 
the  mothers  had  blamed  her  sorely  for  deserting  her  child,  while 
a  few  envious  ones,  when  speaking  of  "  the  grand  doings  at 
Millbank,"  had  hinted  that  the  original  stock  was  "no  better 
than  it  should  be,"  and  that  the  Irving  name  was  stained  like 
many  others. 

But  "this  was  all  forgotten  now.  Jessie  Irving  was  declared 
a  saint,  and  an  angel,  and  a  martyr,  while  nothing  was  too 
severe  to  say  against  the  woman  who  had  maligned  her,  and 
influenced  the  jealous  old  Squire  to  do  a  thing  which  would  de 
prive  the  working  classes  in  Belvidere  of  the  kindest,  most  con 
siderate,  and  liberal  of  masters.  The  factory  hands  could  not 
work  after  they  heard  of  it,  and  one  by  one  they  stole  out  upon 
the  green  in  front  of  the  large  manufactory,  where  they  were 
joined  by  other  hands  from  the  shoe  shop,  until  the  square  was 
full  of  excited  men  and  boys,  and  girls,  the  murmur  of  their 
voices  swelling  louder  and  louder  as,  encouraged  by  each  other, 
they  grew  more  and  more  indignant  toward  the  "  new  lords,"  as 
they  called  Frank  and  his  mother,  and  more  enthusiastic  in 
their  praises  of  Roger. 

One  of  their  number  proposed  sending  for  him  to  come  him 
self  and  tell  them  if  what  they  had  heard  was  true,  and  to  hear 
their  protest  against  it ;  and  three  of  the  more  prominent  men 
were  deputed  to  wait  upon  him. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuine  concern,  and  sympathy, 
and  sorrow  written  on  their  faces,  when  Roger  went  out  to 
meet  them,  and  the  sight  of  them  nearly  unmanned  him  again. 
He  had  been  very  calm  all  the  morning ;  had  breakfasted  with 
his  sister  and  Frank,  as  usual ;  had  said  to  the  latter  that  it 
would  be  well  enough  to  send  for  Lawyer  Schoiield,  who  was 
not  now  a  resident  of  Belvidere,  but  was  practising  in  Spring 
field;  and  had  tried  to  quiet  old  Hester,  who  was  giving  loose 


THE    WORLD  AND    THE    WILL.  2ig 

rein  to  her  tongue,  and  holding  herself  loftily  above  the  "  per 
tenders,"  as  she  called  them.  He  had  also  remembered  Mag 
dalen,  and  sent  her  a  bouquet  of  flowers  by  Celine,  who  repre 
sented  her  as  feverish  and  nervous,  and  too  tired  to  leave  hei 
bed.  Roger  did  not  gather  from  Celine's  report  that  she  was 
very  ill,  only  tired  and  worn  ;  so  he  felt  no  particular  anxiety 
for  her,  and  devoted  himself  to  standing  between  and  keeping 
within  bounds  the  other  members  of  his  household,  and  in  so 
doing  felt  a  tolerable  degree  of  quiet,  until  the  men  came  up 
from  the  mill,  when  the  sight  of  their  faces,  so  full  of  pity,  and 
the  warm  grasp  of  their  friendly  hands,  brought  a  sudden  rush 
of  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  his  chin  quivered  a  little  when  he  first 
spoke  to  them. 

"  We've  heard  about  it,  Mr.  Irving,"  the  speaker  said,  "  and 
we  don't  like  it,  any  of  us,  and  we  hope  it  is  not  true,  and  we 
are  sent  by  the  others  who  are  down  on  the  green,  and  who 
want  you  to  come  and  tell  us  if  it  is  true,  and  what  we  are  to 
do." 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  sitting  by  her  chamber  window,  saw  the 
three  men  walk  down  the  avenue,  with  Roger  in  their  midst, 
and  saw,  too,  in  the  distance  the  crowd  congregated  in  front  of 
the  mill,  and  felt  for  a  moment  a  thrill  of  fear  as  she  began  to 
realize,  more  and  more,  what  taking  Millbank  from  Roger 
meant.  She  would  have  felt  still  more  uneasy  could  she  have 
seen  the  faces  of  the  crowd,  and  their  eager  rash  for  Roger 
when  he  appeared. 

The  women  and  the  young  girls  were  the  first  to  pounce 
upon  him,  and  were  the  most  voluble  in  their  words  of  sorrow, 
and  surprise,  and  indignation,  while  the  men  and  boys  were  not 
far  behind. 

Bewildered  and  too  much  overcome  at  first  to  speak,  Roger 
stood  like  some  father  in  the  midst  of  his  children,  from  whom 
he  is  soon  to  be  separated.  He  had  been  absent  from  them 
for  years,  but  his  kindness  and  generosity  had  reached  them 
across  the  sea.  They  had  lighter  tasks,  and  higher  wages, 
and  more  holidays,  and  forbearance,  and  patience  than  any  class 


220  THE    WORLD  AND    THE    WILL. 

of  workmen  for  miles  and  miles  around,  and  they  knew  it  all 
came  from  Roger's  generosity,  and  the  exceeding  great  kindness 
of  his  heart,  and  they  were  grateful  for  it. 

A  few,  of  course,  had  taken  advantage  of  his  goodness,  and 
loitered,  and  idled,  and  complained  of  their  hard  lot,  and  talked 
as  if  to  work  at  all  were  a  great  favor  to  their  employer.  But 
the  majority  had  appreciated  him  to  the  full,  and  given  him 
back  measure  for  measure,  working  for  his  interest,  and  serving 
him  so  faithfully,  that  few  manufactories  were  as  prosperous  or 
yielded  so  large  an  income  as  those  in  Belvidere.  And  now 
these  workmen  stood  around  their  late  master,  with  their  sad 
faces  upturned,  listening  for  what  he  had  to  say. 

"  It  is  all  true,"  he  said.  "  There  was  another  will,  made  by 
my  father  a  few  months  before  he  died." 

Here  a  few  groans  for  Squire  Irving  were  heard  from  a  knot 
of  boys  by  the  fence,  but  these  were  soon  hushed,  and  Roger 
went  on : 

"This  will  Hester  Floyd  saw  fit  to  hide,  because  she  thought 
it  unjust,  and  so  for  years " 

He  did  not  get  any  further,  for  his  voice  was  lost  in  the 
deafening  cheers  which  went  up  from  the  groaning  boys  for 
Hester  Floyd,  whom  they  designated  as  a  trump  and  a  brick, 
hurrahing  with  all  their  might,  "  Good  for  her.  Three  cheers 
and  a  tiger  for  Hester  Floyd." 

The  cheers  and  the  tiger  were  given,  and  then  the  boys 
settled  again  into  quiet,  while  Roger  tried  to  frame  some  rea 
sonable  excuse  for  what  his  father  had  done.  But  they  would 
not  listen  to  that,  and  those  nearest  him  said,  "  It's  no  use,  Mr. 
Irving.  We've  heard  the  reason  and  we  know  whom  to  thank 
for  this  calamity,  and  there's  not  one  of  us  but  hates  her  for  it. 
We  can  never  respect  Mrs.  Walter  Irving." 

The  multitude  caught  the  sound  of  that  name,  and  the  boys 
by  the  fence  set  up  a  series  of  most  unearthly  groans,  which 
were  in  no  wise  diminished  when  they  saw  coming  toward  them 
Frank,  the  heir,  and  their  new  master,  if  they  chose  to  serve 
him.  Frank's  face  was  very  pale,  and  there  was  something 


THE    WORLD  AND    THE    WILL.  221 

like  fear  and  dread  upon  it  when  he  met  the  angry  glances  of 
the  crowd,  and  heard  the  groans  and  hisses  with  which  they 
greeted  him.  Making  his  way  to  Roger's  side,  he  whispered, 
"  Speak  to  them  for  me.  They  will  listen  to  you  when  they 
would  only  insult  me.  Tell  them  I  am  not  in  fault." 

So  it  was  Roger  who  spoke  for  Frank,  explaining  matters 
away,  and  trying  to  make  things  as  smooth  as  possible. 

"  My  nephew  is  not  to  blame,"  he  said.  "  He  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  will.  He  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  was  as  much 
surprised  as  you  are  when  he  found  there  was  one." 

"  Yes,  and  would  have  burned  it,  too ;  tell  them  that,"  Frank 
said,  anxious  to  conciliate  a  people  whose  enmity  he  dreaded. 

Roger  repeated  the  words,  which  were  received  with  incredu 
lity. 

"Stuff!"  "Bosh!"  "Can't  make  me  swaller  that!" 
"Don't  believe  it !  "  and  such  like  expressions  ran  through  the 
crowd,  till,  roused  to  a  pitch  of  wild  excitement,  Frank  sprang 
upon  a  box  and  harangued  the  multitude  eloquently  in  his  own 
defence. 

"It  is  true,"  he  said.  "I  did  try  to  burn  the  will,  and 
would  have  done  so  if  it  had  not  been  struck  from  my  hand. 
I  held  a  lighted  match  to  it,  and  Roger  will  tell  you  that  a  part 
of  it  is  yellow  now  with  the  smoke  and  flame." 

"  Yellow  with  time  more  like,"  a  woman  said,  while  a  son  of 
Erin  called  out,  "  Good  for  you,  Misther  Franklin,  to  defmd 
yourself,  but  plase  tell  us  who  struck  the  match  from  yer 
hand." 

"  An'  sure  who  would  be  afther  doin'  the  mane  thing  but  his 
mither,  bad  luck  to  her,"  interrupted  another  of  Ireland's  sons, 
and  Frank  rejoined,  "  It  was  not  my  mother.  Roger  will  tell 
you  that  it  was  some  one  whom  you  love  and  respect,  and  who 
was  just  as  desirous  that  the  will  should  be  destroyed  as  I  was, 
but  who  did  not  think  it  right  and  dared  not  do  it.  I  am  sor 
rier  about  it  than  you  are,  and  I've  tried  to  make  Roger  keep 
Millbank,  and  he  refuses.  I  can  no  more  help  being  the  heir 
than  I  could  help  being  born,  and  I  do  not  want  to  be  blamed 


222  THE    WORLD  AND    THE    WILL. 

I  want  y  our  good  will  more  than  anything  else.  I  have  not 
Roger's  experience,  nor  Roger's  sense  ;  but  I'll  do  the  very  best 
I  can,  and  you  must  stand  by  me  and  help  me  to  be  what 
Roger  was." 

Frank  was  growing  very  eloquent,  and  his  pale,  boyish  face 
lighted  up  and  his  eyes  kindled  as  he  went  on  telling  what  he 
meant  to  be  if  they  would  only  help  him  instead  of  hindering 
and  disliking  him,  until  the  tide  began  to  set  in  his  favor  and 
the  boys  by  the  fence  whispered  to  each  other  : 

"Let's  go  in  for  white-hair,  jest  for  fun  if  nothing  more,  — he 
talks  reasonable,  and  maybe  he'll  give  us  half  holidays  when 
the  circus  is  in  town.  Mr.  Irving  never  done  that." 

"  Yes,  but  he  let  us  go  to  see  the  hanimals,  and  gin  Bob 
'Untley  a  ticket,"  said  a  red-faced  English  youth. 

But  the  circus  clique  carried  the  day,  and  there  rose  from 
that  part  of  the  green  a  loud  huzza  for  "  Mr.  Franklin  Irving," 
while  the  faces  of  the  older  ones  cleared  up  a  little,  and  a  few 
spoke  pleasantly  to  Frank,  who  felt  that  he  was  not  quite  so 
obnoxious  to  the  people  as  he  had  been.  But  they  kept  aloof 
from  him,  and  followed  their  late  master  even  to  the  gates  of 
Millbank,  assuring  him  of  their  readiness  to  go  with  him  and 
work  for  him  at  lower  rates  than  they  were  working  now.  And 
Roger,  as  he  walked  slowly  up  the  avenue,  felt  that  it  was  worth 
some  suffering  and  trial  to  know  that  he  stood  so  high  in  the 
estimation  of  those  who  had  been  employed  by  him  so  long. 

All  over  town  the  same  spirit  prevailed,  pervading  the  higher 
circles,  and  causing  Mrs.  Johnson  to  telegraph  to  Springfield 
for  Lawyer  Schofield,  who  she  hoped  might  do  something, 
though  she  did  not  know  what.  He  came  on  the  next  train, 
and  went  at  once  to  Millbank  and  was  closeted  with  Roger  for 
an  hour  and  looked  the  ground  over  and  talked  with  Hester 
Floyd  and  screamed  to  Aleck  through  an  ear  trumpet  and 
said  a  few  words  to  Frank  and  bowed  coldly  to  Mrs.  Walter 
Scoti,  and  then  went  back  to  the  group  of  ladies  assembled  in 
Mrs.  Johnson's  parlor,  and  told  them  there  was  no  hope.  The 
will  was  perfectly  good.  Frank  was  the  rightful  heir,  and 


POOR  MA  CD  A.  223 

Roger  too  proud  to  receive  anything  from  him  more  than  he 
had  received.  And  then  his  auditors  all  talked  together,  and 
abused  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  and  pitied  Roger  and  spoke  slight 
ingly  of  Frank,  and  wondered  if  there  was  any  truth  in  the 
rumor  that  Magdalen  was  to  marry  him.  They  had  heard  so, 
and  the  rumor  incensed  them  against  her,  and  when  Lawyei 
Schofield  said  he  thought  it  very  possible,  they  pounced  upon 
the  luckless  girl  and  in  a  very  polite  way  tore  her  into  shreds, 
without,  however,  saying  a  word  which  was  not  strictly  lady 
like  and  capable  of  a  good  as  well  as  of  a  bad  construction. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

POOR   MAGDA. 

JOBODY  paid  any  attention  to  her  on  the  morning  fol 
lowing  her  visit  to  the  library,  except  Celine,  and 
Frank  and  Roger.  The  latter  had  sent  her  a  bou 
quet  which  he  arranged  himself,  while  Frank,  remembering  that 
this  was  the  day  when  she  was  to  give  him  her  answer,  had 
asked  if  she  would  see  him,  and  Celine,  through  whom  the 
message  was  sent,  had  brought  him  word  that  "  Miss  Lennox 
was  too  sick  to  see  any  one."  Then  Frank  had  begged  his 
mother  to  go  to  her  and  ascertain  if  she  were  seriously  ill,  and 
that  lady  had  said  she  would,  but  afterward  found  it  convenient 
to  be  so  busy  with  other  matters,  that  nursing  a  sick,  girl  who 
was  nothing  to  her  now  except  a  person  whom  she  must  if  pos 
sible  remove  from  her  son's  way,  was  out  of  the  question.  She 
did  not  care  to  see  Magdalen  just  then,  and  she  left  her  to  the 
care  of  Celine,  who  carried  her  toast  and  tea  about  nine 
o'clock  and  urged  her  to  eat  it.  But  Magdalen  was  not  hun 
gry,  and  bade  the  girl  leave  her  alone,  as  she  wanted  rest  more 
than  anything.  At  eleven  Celine  went  to  her  again  and  found 


224  POOR  MAGDA. 

her  sleeping  heavily,  with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks,  and  her  head 
occasionally  moving  uneasily  on  the  pillow.  Celine  was  not 
accustomed  to  sickness,  and  if  her  young  mistress  was  sleeping 
she  believed  she  was  doing  well,  and  stole  softly  from  the  room. 
At  one  she  went  again,  finding  Magdalen  still  asleep,  but  het 
whole  face  was  crimson,  and  she  was  talking  to  herself  and  roll 
ing  her  head  from  side  to  side,  as  if  suffering  great  pain.  Then 
Celine  went  for  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who,  alarmed  by  the  girl's 
representations,  went  at  once  to  Magdalen.  She  was  awake 
now,  but  she  did  not  recognize  any  one,  and  kept  moaning  and 
talking  about  her  head,  which  she  said  was  between  two  planks 
in  the  garret,  where  she  could  not  get  it  out.  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  saw  she  was  very  sick,  and  though  she  did  not  pet  or  ca 
ress  or  kiss  the  feverish,  restless  girl,  she  did  her  best  to  soothe 
and  quiet  her,  and  sent  Celine  for  the  family  physician,  who 
came  and  went  before  either  Roger  or  Frank  knew  that  danger 
threatened  Magdalen. 

"  Typhoid  fever,  aggravated  by  excitement  and  some  sudden 
exposure  to  cold,"  was  the  doctor's  verdict.  "Typhoid  in  its 
most  violent  form,  judging  from  present  symptoms ; "  and  then 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  affected  a  mortal  terror  of  that  kind  of 
fever,  declared  her  unwillingness  to  risk  her  life  by  staying  in 
the  sick  room,  and  sent  for  Hester  Floyd. 

The  old  woman's  animosity  against  Magdalen  had  cooled  a 
little,  and  when  she  heard  how  sick  she  was  she  started  for  her 
at  once. 

"  She  missed  me  through  a  fever,  and  I'd  be  a  heathen  to 
neglect  her  now,  let  her  be  ever  so  big  a  piece  of  trumpery," 
she  said  to  herself  as  she  went  along  the  passage  to  Magdalen's 
room. 

But  when  she  reached  it,  and  saw  the  moaning,  tossing  girl, 
and  heard  her  sad  complaints  of  her  head  wedged  in  between 
the  boards,  and  her  pleadings  for  some  one  to  get  it  out,  her 
old  love  for  the  child  came  surging  back,  and  she  bent  over 
her  lovingly,  saying  to  her  softly,  "  Poor  Maggie,  old  Hester 
will  get  your  head  out,  she  will,  she  will  —  there,  —  there  — isn't 


POOR  MAGDA  22$ 

it  a  bit  easier  now  ?  "  and  she  rubbed  and  bathed  the  burmn--> 

O 

head,  and  gave  the  cooling  drink,  and  administered  the  little 
globules  in  which  she  had  no  faith,  giving  eight  instead  of  six  and 
sometimes  even  ten.  And  still  there  was  no  change  for  the 
better  in  Magdalen,  who  talked  of  the  will,  which  she  was  trying 
to  burn,  and  then  of  Roger,  but  not  a  word  of  Frank,  who  was 
beside  her  now,  his  face  pale  with  fear  and  anxiety  as  he  saw  the 
great  change  in  Magdalen,  and  how  fast  her  fever  increased. 

Roger  was  the  last  to  hear  of  it,  for  he  had  been  busy  in  the 
library  ever  since  Lawyer  Schofield's  departure,  and  did  not 
know  what  was  passing  in  the  house  until  Hester  went  to  him, 
and  said  : 

"  She  thinks  her  head  is  jammed  in  between  them  boards  in 
the  garret  lloor,  and  nobody  but  you  can  pry  it  out.  I  guess 
you  had  better  see  her.  Mr.  Frank  is  there,  of  course,  as  he 
or*  to  be  after  what  I  seen  in  the  hall  yesterday." 

"  What  did  you  see  ?  "  Roger  asked,  and  Hester  replied  : 

"  I  found  her  in  my  room  when  I  went  from  here  and  I  spoke 
my  mind  freely,  I  s'pose,  about  her  snoopin'  after  the  will  when 
you  had  done  so  much  for  her,  and  she  gave  a  scart  kind  of 
screech,  and  ran  out  into  the  hall,  where  Mr.  Frank  met  her, 
and  put  his  arm  round  her  and  led  her  to  her  own  door,  and 
kissed  her  as  he  had  a  right  to  if  she's  to  be  his  wife." 

Roger  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  tried  to  exonerate  Magda 
len  from  all  blame  with  regard  to  the  will,  telling  what  he 
knew  about  her  finding  it,  and  begging  Hester  to  lay  aside  her 
prejudice,  and  care  for  Magdalen  as  she  would  have  done  six 
weeks  ago. 

And  Hester  promised,  and  called  herself  a  foolish  old  woman 
for  having  distrusted  the  girl,  and  then  went  back  to  the  sick 
room,  leaving  Roger  to  follow  her  at  his  leisure.  Something 
in  Magdalen's  manner  the  previous  night  had  led  him  to  hope 
that  possibly  she  was  not  irrevocably  bound  to  Frank  ;  there 
might  be  some  mistake,  and  the  future  was  not  half  so  dreary 
when  he  thought  of  her  sharing  it  with  him.  But  Hester's 
story  swept  all  that  away.  Magdalen  was  lost  to  him,  lost 


226  POOR  MAGDA. 

forever  and  ever,  and  for  a  moment  he  staggered  under  the 
knowledge  just  as  if  it  were  the  first  intimation  he  had  received 
of  it.  Then  recovering  himself  he  went  to  Magdalen's  bedside, 
and  when  at  sight  of  him  she  stretched  her  arms  towards  him 
and  begged  him  to  release  her  head,  he  bent  over  her  as  a 
brother  might  and  took  her  aching  head  upon  his  broad  chest 
and  held  it  between  his  hands,  and  soothed  and  quieted  her 
until  she  fell  away  to  sleep.  Very  carefully  he  laid  her  back 
upon  the  pillow,  and  then  meeting  in  Frank's  eye  what  seemed 
to  be  reproach  for  the  liberty  he  had  taken,  he  said  to  him  in 
an  aside,  "  You  need  not  be  jealous  of  your  old  uncle,  boy. 
Let  me  help  you  nurse  Magda  as  if  she  was  my  sister.  She 
is  going  to  be  very  sick." 

Frank  had  never  distrusted  Roger  and  he  believed  him  now, 
and  all  through  the  long,  dreary  weeks  when  Magdalen  lay  at 
the  very  gates  of  death,  and  it  sometimes  seemed  to  those  who 
watched  her  as  if  she  had  entered  the  unknown  world,  he 
never  lost  faith  in  the  man  who  stood  by  her  xo  constantly, 
partly  because  he  could  not  leave  her,  and  partly  because  she 
would  not  let  him  go.  She  got  her  head  at  last  from  between 
the  boards,  but  it  was  Roger  who  released  it  for  her,  and  with 
a  rain  of  tears,  she  cried,  "It's  out;  I  shall  be  better  now;" 
then,  lying  back  among  her  pillows,  she  fell  into  the  quietest, 
most  refreshing  sleep  she  had  known  for  weeks.  The  fever 
was  broken,  the  doctor  said,  though  it  might  be  days  before  her 
reason  was  restored,  and  weeks  before  she  could  be  moved,  ex 
cept  with  the  greatest  care.  When  the  danger  was  over  and 
he  knew  she  would  live,  Roger  absented  himself  from  the  sick 
room,  where  he  was  no  longer  needed.  She  did  not  call  for 
him  now ;  she  did  not  talk  at  all,  but  lay  perfectly  passive  and 
quiet,  receiving  her  medicines  from  one  as  readily  as  from  an 
other,  and  apparently  taking  no  notice  of  anything  transpiring 
around  her.  But  she  was  decidedly  better,  and  knowing  this 
Roger  busied  himself  with  the  settlement  of  his  affairs,  as  he 
wished  to  leave  Millbank  as  soon  as  possible. 


LEAVING  MILLBANK.  22/ 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

LEAVING     MILLBANK. 

T  was  in  vain  that  Frank  protested  against  the  pride 
which  refused  to  receive  anything  from  the  Irving  es 
tate.  Roger  was  firm  as  a  rock. 
"  I  may  be  foolish,"  he  said  to  Lawyer-  Schofield,  who  was 
often  at  Millbank,  and  who  once  tried  to  persuade  him  into 
some  settlement  with  Frank.  "  I  may  be  foolish,  but  I  cannot 
take  a  penny  more  than  the  terms  of  the  will  give  to  me.  I 
have  lived  for  years  on  what  did  not  belong  to  me.  Let  that 
suffice,  and  do  not  try  to  tempt  me  into  doing  what  I  should 
hate  myself  for.  I  have  been  accustomed  to  habits  of  luxury, 
which  I  shall  find  it  difficult  to  overcome  ;  just  as  I  shall  at  first 
find  it  hard  to  settle  down  into  a  steady  business,  and  seek  for 
patronage  with  which  to  earn  my  bread.  But  I  am  compara 
tively  young  yet.  I  can  study  and  catch  up  in  my  profession. 
I  passed  a  good  examination  years  ago.  I  have  tried  by  read 
ing  not  to  fall  far  behind  the  present  age.  I  shall  do  very 
well,  I'm  sure."  Then  he  spoke  of  Schodick,  where  he  had 
decided  to  go.  "  Some  men  would  choose  the  West  as  a  larger 
field  in  which  to  grow,  and  at  first  I  looked  that  way  myself; 
but  Schodick  has  great  attractions  for  me.  It  was  my  mother's 
home.  I  shall  live  in  the  very  house  where  she  was  born. 
You  know  my  father  gave  me  the  farm,  and  though  it  is  rocky 
and  hilly  and  sterile,  —  much  of  it,  —  I  would  rather  go  there 
than  out  upon  the  prairies.  I  shall  be  very  near  the  town, 
which  is  growing  rapidly,  and  there  is  a  chance  of  my  getting 
in  with  a  firm  whose  senior  member  has  recently  died.  If  I 
do,  it  will  be  the  making  of  me,  and  you  may  yet  hear  of  Roger 
Irving  from  Schodick  as  a  great  man." 

Roger  had  worked  himself  up  to  quite  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm, 
and  seemed  much  like  his  olden  self  as  he  talked  of  his  plans 
to  Lawyer  Schofield,  who  had  never  admired  or  respected  him 


228  LEAVING  MILLBANK. 

so  much  as  he  did  when  he  saw  him  putting  the  best  face  upon 
matters  and  bearing  his  reverses  so  patiently.  Everybody  knew 
now  that  he  was  going  to  Schodick,  in  New  Hampshire,  and 
that  Hester  and  Aleck  were  going  with  him.  Both  seemed  to 
have  renewed  their  youth  to  a  most  marvellous  degree,  and 
Hester's  form  was  never  more  erect,  or  her  step  more  elastic, 
than  during  those  early  summer  days,  when,  between  the  times 
of  her  ministering  to  Magdalen,  of  whom  she  still  had  the  care, 
she  went  over  the  house,  selecting  here  and  there  articles 
which  she  declared  were  hers,  and  with  which  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  did  not  meddle. 

Full  of  her  dread  of  the  fever,  that  lady  had  scrupulously  kept 
aloof  from  Magdalen,  and  when  she  began  to  fear  lest  the  few 
for  whose  opinion  she  cared  should  censure  her  for  neglect  she 
affected  symptoms  of  the  disease  and  stayed  in  her  own  room, 
where  she  received  the  visits  of  the  doctor,  in  white  line  wrap 
pers  elaborately  trimmed,  and  a  scarlet  shawl  thrown  across 
her  shoulders.  Frank  visited  her  several  times  a  day,  and  once, 
when  his  heart  was  heaviest  with  the  fear  lest  Magdalen  would 
die,  he  went  to  her  for  sympathy,  and  laying  his  head  on  the 
pillow  beside  her,  wept  like  a  child.  There  was  no  pity  in  her 
voice,  for  she  felt  none  for  him,  and  her  manner  was  cold  and 
indifferent  as  she  said  she  apprehended  no  danger,  — and  added 
that  she  hoped  Frank  would  not  commit  himself,  too  far  or 
allow  his  feelings  to  run  away  with  his  judgment.  He  must  re 
member  that  Magdalen  had  never  promised  to  marry  him,  and 
that  if  one  woman  could  read  another  she  did  not  believe  she 
ever  would. 

"She  loves  Roger,"  she  said,  "and  he  loves  her,  and  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  explain  to  him  a  few  things,  and  thus  pre 
vent  you  from  throwing  yourself  away  on  a  girl  whose  parent 
age  is  so  doubtful." 

Then  Frank  dried  his  tears,  and  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to 
swear  roundly  that  so  sure  as  she  went  to  Roger  with  such  a 
tale,  or  in  any  way  interfered  between  him  and  Magdalen,  just 
so  sure  would  he  deed  every  penny  of  the  Irving  property  to 


LEAVING  MILLBANK.  229 

Roger,  and  if  he  refused  to  take  it,  he  would  deed  it  to  Mag- 
dalen,  and  if  she  refused  it  too,  he  would  make  donations  to 
every  charitable  institution  in  the  land,  until  the  whole  was 
given  away,  and  he  was  poorer  than  before  the  wilj  was  found. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  afraid  of  Frank  in  his  present  defiant 
mood,  and  promised  whatever  he  required,  but  suggested  that 
it  might  be  well  for  him  not  to  assume  too  much  the  character 
of  Magdalen's  lover,  until  her  own  lips  had  given  him  the  right 
to  do  so.  Frank  knew  this  was  good  advice,  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  he  followed  it ;  and  when  the  crisis  was  past,  he,  too, 
absented  himself  from  the  sick-room,  and  spent  his  time  with 
Roger  in  trying  to  understand  the  immense  business  which  was 
now  his  to  manage,  and  which  he  no  more  comprehended  than 
a  child. 

"  It  is  not  well  to  trust  too  much  to  agents  and  overseers. 
Better  attend  to  it  yourself,"  Roger  said. 

And  then  he  spoke  of  one  agent  in  particular  whom  he  dis 
trusted  and  had  intended  to  discharge,  and  advised  Frank  to 
see  to  it  at  once,  and  have  but  little  to  do  with  him.  And 
Frank  promised  to  do  so,  remembering  the  while,  with  regret, 
that  between  this  man  and  himself  there  existed  the  most 
friendly  relations  and  perfect  sympathy  with  regard  to  Jiorses, 
—  Frank's  great  weakness  —  which  only  want  of  money  kept  in 
abeyance. 

Like  his  mother,  Frank  was  disposed  to  let  Hester  Floyd 
take  whatever  she  chose  in  the  way  of  bedding  and  table-linen, 
and  offered  no  objections  when  she  laid  claim  to  the  spoons  and 
silver  tea-set  which  had  been  bought  for  Jessie,  and  were  marked 
with  her  initials.  Spoons  and  forks  of  a  more  modern  style,  with 
only  "Irving"  marked  upon  them,  were  next  appropriated  by 
the  greedy  old  woman,  who  kept  two  men  busy  one  entire 
day  packing  boxes  for  Schodick,  N.  H.  She  was  going  at 
once  to  the  old  farm-house,  which  the  present  tenant  had, 
for  a  consideration,  been  induced  to  vacate,  and  her  prep 
arations  went  rapidly  forward,  until,  at  last,  the  day  but  one 
came,  when,  with  her  boxes  and  Aleck  and  Matty,  her  grand- 


230  LEAVING  MILLS ANK. 

niece,  who  went  as  maid  of  all  work,  she  was  to  start  foi  the 
Schodick  hills,  while  Roger  went  West  for  a  few  weeks,  thus 
leaving  the  old  lady  time  to  get  things  "  straightened  out  and 
tidied  up  "  before  he  came.  This  had  been  Frank's  idea,  con 
veyed  to  Roger  in  the  form  of  a  suggestion  that  a  little  travel 
would  do  him  good,  and  his  home  in  Schodick  seem  a  great 
deal  pleasanter  if  he  found  it  settled  than  if  he  went  to  it  when 
all  was  disorder  and  confusion.  All  the  better,  kindlier  qual 
ities  of  Frank's  nature  were  at  work  during  those  last  days,  and 
even  Hester  brought  herself  to  address  him  civilly,  and  thank 
him  cordially  when,  to  her  numerous  bundles  and  boxes,  he 
added  a  huge  basket  of  the  choicest  wines  in  the  cellar. 

"  To  be  sure,  he  was  only  offering  to  Roger  what  was  already 
his  own,"  she  said ;  "  but  then  it  showed  that  what  little  milk  of 
human  kindness  he  had  wasn't  sourer  than  swill,  as  his  mother's 
was." 

Roger  had  seen  to  the  packing  of  but  one  article,  and  this  he 
had  done  by  himself  and  then  carried  it  to  the  back  stoop  where 
the  other  baggage  was  waiting.  Hester  saw  the  long,  narrow 
box  and  wondered  what  it  was.  Frank  saw  it  too,  guessed 
what  it  was,  went  to  the  garret  to  reconnoitre,  and  then  knew 
that  it  was  the  cradle  candle-box,  in  which  Magdalen  had  been 
rocked.  It  had  stood  for  years  in  a  corner  of  the  garret,  sur 
rounded  with  piles  of  rubbish  and  covered  with  dirt  and  cob 
webs  ;  but  Roger  had  hunted  it  out  and  it  was  going  with  him 
to  his  new  home,  sole  memento  of  the  young  girl  he  had  loved 
so  dearly,  and  who,  all  through  the  long  bright  summer  days 
when  he  was  so  busy,  lay  quiet  and  still,  knowing  nothing,  or  at 
most  comprehending  nothing,  of  what  was  passing  around  her. 

It  was  a  strange  state  she  was  in,  but  the  doctor  said  she 
was  mending,  that  the  danger  was  past,  and  a  week  or  two  of 
perfect  quiet  would  restore  her  to  a  more  natural  condition. 
Had  he  said  otherwise,  Roger  would  not  have  gone,  but  now  it 
was  better  for  him  to  leave  her  while  she  was  unconscious  of 
the  pain  it  cost  him  to  do  so  ;  and  on  the  night  before  his  depart 
ure  for  the  West  he  went  to  look  at  her  for  the  last  time 


LEAVING  MI^LBANK.  231 

Only  Celine  was  with  her  and  she  thoughtfully  withdrew,  leav 
ing  him  alone  with  Magdalen,  whose  pale  lips  he  kissed  so 
passionately  and  on  whose  face  he  dropped  tears  of  bitter 
anguish.  Years  after,  when  her  eyes  were  shining  upon  him  full 
of  love  and  tenderness  and  trust,  he  told  her  of  that  parting 
scene  ;  but  she  knew  nothing  of  it  then,  and  only  moved  a  little 
uneasily  and  muttered  something  he  could  not  understand. 
She  had  no  farewell  word  for  him,  and  so  he  kissed  her  lips  and 
forehead  once  more  and  drew  the  covering  smoothly  about  her, 
and  buttoned  the  cuff  of  her  night-dress,  which  he  saw  was 
unfastened,  and  moved  the  lamp  a  little  more  into  the  shadow, 
because  he  thought  it  hurt  her  eyes,  and  then  went  out  and  left 
her  there  alone. 


They  were  astir  early  at  Millbank  the  next  morning,  and  a 
most  tempting  breakfast,  prepared  by  Hester  herself,  awaited 
Roger  in  the  dining-room.  But  he  could  not  eat,  and,  after  a 
few  ineffectual  attempts  to  swallow  the  rich,  golden-colored 
coffee,  he  rose  from  the  table  and  left  the  dining-room. 

Knowing  that  he  would,  of  course,  come  to  say  good-by  to 
her,  and  dreading  an  interview  with  him  when  no  one  was 
present,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  made  a  "great  effort"  to  dress 
herself,  and  come  down  to  breakfast.  But  she  panted  hard,  and 
seemed  too  weak  to  talk,  and  kept  her  hand  a  good  deal  on  her 
left  side,  where  she  said  she  experienced  great  pain  since  her  ill 
ness,  and  sometimes  feared  her  lungs  were  affected.  With  all 
her  languor  and  weakness,  she  could  not  quite  conceal  her 
elation  at  the  near  prospect  of  being  entirely  alone  in  her  glory, 
and  it  showed  itself  in  her  face  and  in  her  eyes,  which,  never 
theless,  tried  to  look  so  sorry  and  pitiful  when,  at  last,  Roger 
turned  to  her  to  say  good-by. 

She  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him  now.  He  had  given  up 
quietly.  Success  was  hers,  with  riches  and  luxury.  It  could 
matter  little  what  Roger  thought  of  her.  His  opinion  could 
not  change  her  position  at  Millbank.  Still,  in  her  heart  she 
respected  him  more  than  any  man  living,  and  would  rather  ha 


232  LEAVING  MILLBANK. 

thought  well  of  her  than  ill.  So,  with  that  look  in  her  eyes 
which  they  always  wore  when  she  wanted  to  be  particularly  in 
teresting,  she  held  his  hand  between  her  own  and  said,  — 

"  I  can't  let  you  go  without  hearing  you  say  that  you  forgive 
me  for  any  wrong  you  imagine  me  to  have  done,  and  that  you 
will  not  cherish  hard  feelings  toward  me.  Tell  me  this,  can't 
you,  dear  brother  1 " 

He  dropped  her  hand  then,  as  if  a  viper  had  stung  him,  and 
a  gleam  of  fire  leaped  to  his  eyes  as  he  replied  : 

"Don't  call  me  brother,  now,  Helen.  That  time  is  past. 
You  have  wronged  me  fearfully,  and  but  for  you  I  should  never 
have  met  this  hour  of  darkness.  If  God  can  forgive  me  for  all 
my  sins  against  Him,  I  surely  ought  to  try  and  forgive  you,  too. 
But  human  flesh  is  weak,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I  feel  very 
kindly  towards  you,  for  I  do  not." 

He  had  never  said  so  much  to  her  before,  and  the  proud 
woman  winced  a  little,  but  tried  to  appear  natural,  and,  for 
appearance  sake,  went  with  him  to  the  door,  and  stood  watch 
ing  the  carriage  until  it  left  the  avenue  and  turned  into  the 
highway. 

In  "perfect  silence  Roger  passed  through  the  grounds,  so 
beautiful  now  in  their  summer  glory,  but  as  the  carriage  left  the 
park  behind,  he  leaned  from  the  window  for  a  last  look  at  his 
old  home.  The  sun  was  just  rising  and  the  dew-drops  were 
glittering  on  the  grass  and  flowers,  while  the  thousands  of  roses 
with  which  the  place  was  adorned  filled  the  air  with  .perfume. 
It  seemed  a  second  Paradise  to  the  heart-broken  man,  whose 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  dream  he  once  had  of  just  such  a 
day  as  this  when  he  was  leaving  Millbank.  In  the  dream,  how 
ever,  there  was  this  difference  :  Magdalen  was  with  him ;  her 
hand  lay  in  his,  her  eyes  shone  upon  him,  and  turned  the  mid 
night  into  noonday.  Now  he  was  alone,  so  far  as  she  was  con 
cerned.  Magda  was  not  there  ;  she  would  never  be  with  him 
again,  unless  she  came  the  wife  of  Frank,  who  sat  opposite, 
with  an  expression  of  genuine  sympathy  on  his  boyish  face. 
Frank  was  sorry  that  morning,  so  sorry  that  he  could  not  talk  ; 


LEAVING  MILLS ANK.  233 

but  when,  as  they  lost  sight  of  Millbank,  Roger  groaned  aloud 
and  leaned  his  head  against  the  side  of  the  carriage,  he  wen! 
over  to  him,  and  sitting  down  beside  him  took  his  hand  in  his 
own  and  pressed  it  nervously. 

There  was  a  crowd  of  people  at  the  station ;  the  whole  vil 
lage,  Frank  thought,  when  he  saw  the  moving  multitude  which 
pressed  around  Roger  to  say  good-by  and  assure  him  of  their 
willingness  to  serve  him.  There  were  mills  in  Schodick,  they 
had  heard,  and  shoe  shops,  too  ;  and  a  few  were  already  talking 
of  following  their  late  master  thither. 

"  It  would  be  worth  something  to  see  him  round  even  if  they 
did  not  work  for  him,"  they  said. 

And  Roger  heard  all  and  saw  all,  and  said  good-by  to  all,  and 
took  in  his  arms  the  little  baby  boy  named  for  him  ten  months 
before,  and  said  playfully  to  the  mother,  "He  shall  have  the  first 
cow  I  raise  on  my  farm." 

And  then  the  train  came  round  the  river  bend  and  the  crowd 
fell  back,  and  Frank  went  with  Roger  into  the  car  and  waited 
there  until  the  train  began  to  move,  when  with  a  bound  he 
sprang  upon  the  platform,  and  those  nearest  to  him  saw  that  he 
was  very  white  and  that  there  were  traces  of  tears  in  his  eyes. 
No  one  spoke  to  him,  though  all  made  way  for  him  to  pass  to 
his  carriage,  which  drove  rapidly  back  to  Millbank,  which  was 
now  his  beyond  a  doubt. 

Hester  Floyd  went  later  in  the  day,  and  to  the  last  stood  out 
against  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  whom  she  did  not  deign  to  notice  by 
so  much  as  a  farewell  nod.  Over  Magdalen  she  bent  lovingly, 
trying  to  make  her  comprehend  that  she  was  going  away,  but 
Magdalen  only  stared  at  her  a  moment  with  her  wide  open  eyes, 
and  then  closed  them  wearily,  and  knew  nothing  of  Hester's 
tears  or  the  great  wet  kiss  which  was  laid  upon  her  forehead. 

'  She's  to  b~  the  lady  of  Millbank,  I  s'pose,  but  I  don't  be- 
grutch  her  her  happiness  with  that  old  sarpent  for  a  mother-in- 
law  and  that  white-livered  critter  for  a  husband,"  Hester  thought 
as  sne  stole  softly  from  the  room  and  went  down  to  where  the 
drayman  was  loading  her  numerous  boxes  and  bundles.  Frank 


234  LEAVING  MILLBANK. 

offered  her  the  use  of  the  carriage  to  carry  herself  and  Aleck  to 
the  station  ;  but  she  declined  the  offer,  and  took  a  fierce  kind  of 
pride  in  seeing  the  village  hack  drive  up  to  the  side  door.  "She 
as't  no  odds  of  nobody,"  she  said,  and  tying  on  her  six  years' 
old  straw  bonnet,  and  pinning  her  brown  shawl  with  a  darning- 
needle,  she  saw  deposited  in  the  hack  her  old-fashioned  work- 
basket  and  her  satchel  and  bird  cage  and  umbrella,  and  her 
bandbox  tied  up  in  a  calico  bag,  and  her  palm-leaf  fan.  and 
Aleck,  and  Matty,  who  carried  two  beautiful  Malta  kittens  in  a 
basket  as  her  own  special  property.  Then,  with  a  quick,  sudden 
movement,  and  an  indifference  she  was  far  from  feeling,  she 
shook  the  hands  of  all  her  fellow-servants  over  whom  she  had 
reigned  so  long,  and  hoping  they  would  never  find  a  "wus" 
mistress  than  she  had  been,  sprang  into  the  hack  with  an 
alacrity  which  belied  her  seventy  summers,  and  was  driven  to 
the  depot. 

From  her  window  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  watched  the  fast  reced 
ing  vehicle,  and  felt  herself  breathe  freer  with  every  revolution 
of  the  wheels.  When  Roger  went,  a  great  weight  had  been 
ifted  from  her  spirits,  but  so  long  as  old  Hester  Floyd  remained 
she  could  not  feel  altogether  free  ;  and  now  that  the  good  dame 
was  really  out  of  the  house  she  sat  perfectly  still  until  she  heard 
the  whistle  of  the  engine,  and  saw  the  white  smoke  of  the  train 
which  carried  the  enemy  away.  Then  she  rose  up  from  her 
sitting  posture,  and  her  long  graceful  neck  took  a  prouder  arch, 
and  her  step  was  more  firm,  her  manner  more  queenly,  as  she 
went  directly  to  the  kitchen,  and  summoning  the  servants  to 
her  presence  told  them  they  were  at  liberty  to  leave  her  employ 
within  a  month,  as  she  should  by  that  time  have  provided  her 
self  with  other  help.  Very  civilly  they  listened  to  her,  and 
when  she  was  through  informed  her  that  she  need  not  wait  a 
month  before  importing  her  new  coterie  of  servants,  as  each 
one  of  them  was  already  supplied  with  a  situation,  and  was  in 
tending  to  leave  her  that  night,  with  the  exception  of  Celine, 
who  had  promised  Mrs.  Floyd  to  stay  till  Miss  Lennox's  mind 
was  restored. 


LEAVING  MILLBANfC.  235 

With  a  haughty,  "  Very  well,  do  as  you  like,"  Mrs.  Waltet 
Scott  swept  out  of  the  kitchen  and  made  the  circ.uit  ol 
the  handsome  rooms  which  were  now  her  own.  Frank,  too, 
had  watched  the  hack  as  it  drove  away,  and  listened  for  the 
signal  by  which  he  should  know  that  Hester  Floyd  was  gone, 
for  not  till  then  could  he  feel  perfectly  secure  in  his  possessions.  . 
But  as  the  loud,  shrill  blast  came  up  over  the  hills  and  then  died 
away  amid  the  windings  of  the  river,  there  stole  over  him  a 
pleasurable  sense  of  proprietorship,  and  he  thought  involuntarily 
of  the  familiar  lines,  "  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey,  my  right 
there  is  none  to  dispute."  Frank  liked  to  feel  comfortable  in 
his  mind,  and  as  he  reviewed  the  steps  by  which  he  had  reached 
his  present  position,  he  found  many  arguments  in  his  own  favor 
which  tended  to  silence  any  misgivings  he  might  otherwise  have 
experienced.  He  was  not  to  blame  for  his  grandfather's  will, 
nor  to  blame  for  hiding  it.  Everybody  knew  that.  Roger 
said  he  was  not,  and  Roger's  opinion  was  worth  everything  to 
him.  He  had  been  willing  to  burn  the  will,  and  when  he  could 
not  do  that,  he  offered  repeatedly  to  divide  with  Roger,  and  was 
willing  to  divide  now  and  always  would  be.  Surely  he  could 
do  no  more  than  he  had  done.  He  was  a  pretty  good  fellow 
after  all,  and  he  began  to  whistle  "Annie  Laurie"  and  think  of 
the  agent  whom  Roger  had  warned  him  against,  and  wished  it 
had  been  anybody  but  Noll,  who  was  such  a  good  judge 
of  horses,  and  had  such  a  fine  high-blood  for  sale,  which  he 
offered  cheap,  because  he  needed  a  little  ready  money.  As  the 
war  steed  scents  the  battle  from  afar,  and  pricks  up  his  ears  at 
the  smell  of  blood,  so  Frank  felt  his  love  of  horse  flesh  growing 
strong  within  him.  There  could  be  no  harm  in  riding  over  to 
sec  Holt's  horse.  He  would  have  to  go  there  any  way  if  he 
dismissed  the  man,  as  Roger  had  advised,  and  he  would  go  at 
once  and  have  a  bad  job  off  his  mind.  Accordingly,  when  lunch 
time  came  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  lunched  alone,  and  when  the 
dinner  hour  came  she  dined  alone,  and  when  the  stable  doors 
were  closed  that  night  they  shut  into  his  new  home  Firefly,  "the 


THE  HOME  IN  SCHODICK. 

swiftest  horse  in  the  county,"  which  Frank  had  bought  foi 
eleven  hundred  dollars. 

Holt,  the  agent,  was  not  dismissed ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE   HOME   IN   SCHODICK. 

j  T  was  a  quiet,  old-fashioned  farm-house,  with  gables 
and  projections  and  large  rooms  and  pleasant  fire 
places  and  low  ceilings  and  small  windows,  looking 
some  of  them  toward  the  village,  with  its  houses  of  white 
nestled  among  the  trees,  arid  some  of  them  upon  the  hills, 
whose  shadows  enfolded  the  farm-house  in  an  early  twilight  at 
night,  and  in  the  morning  reflected  back  the  warm  sunshine 
which  lay  so  brightly  upon  their  wooded  sides.  There  was  a 
kitchen  with  a  door  to  the  north,  and  a  door  to  the  south,  and 
a  door  to  the  east,  leading  out  into  the  woodshed,  and  there 
were  stairs  leading  to  an  upper  room,  and  a  fire-place  "big 
enough  to  roast  an  ox,"  Hester  said,  when,  with  her  basket  and 
bandbox  and  umbrella  and  camlet  cloak  and  bird  cage  and 
kittens  and  Aleck,  she  was  dropped  at  her  new  home  and 
began  to  reconnoitre,  deciding,  first,  that  the  late  tenants  of 
the  place  were  "  shiftless  critters,  or  they  would  never  have 
lived  there  so  long  with  only  a  wooden  latch  and  a  wooden 
button  on  the  outside  door,"  and  second,  that  they  were  "  dirty 
as  the  rot,  or  they  would  never  have  left  them  stains  on  the 
buttry  shelf,  that  looked  so  much  like  cheese-mould." 

Hester  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  the  house.  It  came 
a  little  hard  to  change  from  luxurious  Millbank  to  this  old 
brown  farm-house,  with  its  oaken  floors  and  stone  hearth  and 
tiny  panes  of  glass,  and  for  a  time  the  old  lady  was  as  home 
sick  as  she  could  be.  But  this  only  lasted  until  she  got  well 
to  work  in  the  cleaning  process,  which  occupied  her  mind 


THE  HOME  IN  SCHODICK.  2tf 

so  wholly  that  she  forgot  herself,  and  only  thought  how  to 
make  the  house  a  fitting  place  for  her  boy  to  come  to  after  his 
travels  West.  Roger  had  given  her  money  with  which  to 
furnish  the  house,  and  she  had  added  more  of  her  own,  while 
Frank,  when  parting  with  her,  had  slipped  into  her  hands  one 
hundred  dollars,  saying  to  her,  ''Roger  is  too  proud  to  take 
anything  from  me,  and  I  want  you  to  use  this  for  the  house." 

And  so  it  was  owing  partly  to  Frank's  thoughtfulness  and 
Hester's  generosity  that  the  farm-house,  when  renovated  with 
paper  and  paint,  and  furnished  with  the  pretty,  tasteful  furniture 
which  Hester  bought,  looked  as  well  and  inviting  as  it  did. 
The  most  pains  had  been  taken  with  Roger's  room,  the  one 
his  mother  occupied  when  a  girl.  Hester  had  ascertained 
which  it  was  from  an  inhabitant  of  Schodick,  who  had  been 
Jessie's  friend,  and  slept  with  her  many  a  time  in  the  room 
under  the  roof,  which  looked  off  upon  the  pond  and  up  the 
side  of  the  steep  hills.  The  prettiest  carpet  was  put  down 
there,  and  curtains  were  hung  before  the  windows,  and  the  bed 
made  up  high  and  clean  with  ruffled  sheets  and  pillow-cases, 
mementos  of  Millbank,  and  Jessie's  picture  was  hung  on  the 
wall,  the  blue  eyes  seeming  to  look  sadly  round  upon  a  spot 
they  had  known  in  happier  days  than  those  when  the  portrait 
was  taken.  There  were  flowers,  too,  in  great  profusion,  —  not 
costly,  hot-house  flowers,  like  those  which  decked  the  rooms  at 
Millbank,  but  sweet,  home-flowers,  like  those  which  grow 
around  the  doors  and  in  the  gardens  of  so  many  happy  New 
England  homes,  —  the  fragrant  pink  and  old-fashioned  rose 
and  honeysuckle  and  heliotrope,  with  verbenas  and  the  sweet 
mignonette. 

And  here  Roger  came  one  pleasant  July  afternoon,  when  a 
heavy-thunder-storm  had  laid  the  dust,  and  cooled  the  air,  and 
set  every  little  bird  to  singing  its  blithest  notes,  and,  alas ! 
soured  the  rich,  thick  cream,  which  Hester  had  put  away  for 
the  few  luscious  wild  strawberries  which,  late  as  it  was  for 
them,  Mattie  had  found  in  the  meadow,  by  the  fence,  and 
picked  for  Mr.  Roger.  With  the  exception  of  this  little  draw- 


238  THE  HOME  IN  SCHODICK. 

back,  Hester  was  perfectly  happy,  and  her  face  was  radiant 
when  she  met  her  boy  at  the  door,  and  welcomed  him  to  his 
new  home,  taking  him  first  to  his  own  room,  because  it  looked 
the  prettiest,  ind  would  give  him  the  best  impression. 

Roger  had  been  in  Schodick  once  or  twice  when  a  boy,  but 
everything  now  was  new  and  strange,  while,  struggle  as  he 
might  against  it,  the  contrast  between  the  old  home  and  the 
new  affected  him  painfully  at  first,  and  it  was  weeks  before  he 
could  settle  down  quietly,  and  give  his  time  and  attention  to 
the  firm  of  which  he  at  once  became  a  member.  For  days  and 
days  he  found  his  chief  solace  in  wandering  over  the  hills  where 
his  mother  once  had  been,  and  exploring  the  shadowy  woods, 
and  hunting  out  the  rock  under  the  overhanging  pine,  where 
she  had  crept  away  from  sight,  and  prayed  that  she  might  die, 
when  the  great  sorrow  was  in  her  heart,  just  as  it  was  now  in 
his.  He  found  the  spot  at  last,  just  under  the  shadow  of  one 
great  rock  and  on  the  ledge  of  another,  where  the  ground  was 
carpeted  thickly  with  the  red  pine  of  last  year's  growth,  and  the 
green,  tasselated  boughs  above  his  head  seemed  to  whisper 
softly,  and  try  to  comfort  him. 

Here  poor  Jessie  had  knelt,  and  felt  that  her  heart  was 
breaking.  And  here  Roger  sat,  and  felt  that  his  heart  was 
broken. 

He  had  tried  not  to  think  much  of  Magdalen,  and  during 
the  novelty  and  excitement  of  travelling  he  had  not  felt  the 
bitter  pain  tugging  at  his  heart  as  it  was  tugging  now,  causing 
him  to  cry  out,  in  his  anguish  : 

"Oh,  Magda,  my  darling!  how  can  I  live  without  you?" 

He  had  his  father's  letter  with  him,  and  he  read  it  again 
there  in  the  dim  light,  and  was  struck,  as  he  had  never  before 
been,  with  that  clause  which  said  : 

"  And  if,  in  the  course  of  your  life,  there  is  one  thing  more 
than  another  which  you  desire,  I  pray  Heaven  to  grant  it  to 
you ! " 

He  had  read  these  lines  many  times,  but  they  never  im 
pressed  him  so  forcibly  as  now.  It  was  his  father's  last  invo- 


THE  HOME  IN  SCHODICK.  239 

cation  to  Heaven  in  his  behalf.  The  one  thing  more  than 
another  which  he  desired  was  Magdalen,  and  why  had  God 
withheld  her  from  him  ?  Why  had  He  not  heard  and  answered 
the  father's  prayer?  Why  had  He  dealt  so  harshly  by  the  son, 
taking  from  him  everything  which  had  hitherto  made  life 
desirable  ? 

These  were  hard  questions  for  a  creature  to  ask  its  Creator. 
And  Roger  felt  hard  and  rebellious  as  he  asked  them,  with  his 
face  among  the  cones  and  withered  pines,  and  from  the  pitiless 
skies  above  him  there  came  no  answer  back,  for  it  is  not  thus 
that  God  will  have  His  children  question  Him. 

Roger  could  not  be  submissive  then,  and  for  hours  he  sat 
there  alone,  battling  with  his  sorrow,  and  never  trying  to  pray 
until  at  the  very  last,  when  with  a  cry  such  as  a  wayward  child 
gives  when  the  will  is  finally  broken,  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands  and  prayed  earnestly  to  be  forgiven  for  all  the 
wicked,  rebellious  feelings  he  had  cherished,  and  for  strength 
to  bear  whatever  the  future  had  in  store  for  him.  After  that 
he  never  gave  way  again  as  he  had  done  before,  though  he 
went  often  to  that  rock  under  the  pine,  and  made  it  a  kind  of 
Bethel  where,  unseen  by  mortal  eye,  he  could  tell  his  troubles 
to  God,  and  go  away  with  the  burden  somewhat  lightened. 

They  heard  at  the  farmhouse  that  Magdalen  was  improving 
slowly,  and  then  there  came  a  rumor  in  a  roundabout  way, 
that  the  day  for  the  bridal  was  fixed,  and  that  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  was  in  New  York  selecting  the  bridal  trousseau.  Roger's 
face  was  very  white  for  a  few  days  after  that,  and  nothing  had 
power  to  clear  the  shadow  from  his  brow,  until  one  morning 
there  came  a  letter  to  Hester  Floyd  from  Magdalen  herself, 
with  the  delicate  perfumery  she  always  used  lingering  about  it, 
and  her  pretty  monogram  upon  the  seal.  How  Roger  pressed 
the  inanimate  thing  in  one  hand  and  caressed  it  with  the  other, 
and  how  fast  he  carried  it  to  Hester,  who  was  in  the  midst  of 
working  over  her  morning's  churning,  but  who  put  the  tray 
aside  at  once  and  washed  her  hands,  and  adjusted  her  specta 
cles,  while  Roger  stood  by  inwardly  chafing  at  the  delay  and 


240  THE  HOME   IN  SCHODICIC. 

ionghig  to  know  what  Magdalen  had  written.  It  was  very 
short  indeed,  and  formal  and  stiff,  and  did  not  sound  at  all  like 
Magdalen.  She  was  quite  well  now,  and  she  wanted  to  thank 
Mrs.  Floyd  for  all  the  care  she  had  taken  of  her  before  leaving 
Millbank. 

"  Mrs.  Irving  tells  me  you  were  very  kind  to  me,"  she  wrote, 
"  and  though  I  have  no  recollection  that  you  or  any  one  but 
Celine  came  near  me,  I  am  grateful  all  the  same,  and  shall 
always  remember  your  kindness  to  me  both  then  and  when  I 
was  a  child,  and  such  a  care  to  you ;  I  am  deeply  grateful  to 
all  who  have  done  so  much  for  me,  and  I  wish  them  to  know 
it,  and  remember  me  kindly  as  I  do  them.  I  am  going  away 
soon,  and  I  want  to  take  with  me  all  I  brought  to  Millbank. 
I  have  the  locket,  but  the  little  dress  I  cannot  find.  Mrs. 
Irving  thinks  you  took  it  in  the  chest.  Did  you,  and  if  so,  will 
you  please  send  it  to  me  at  once  by  express,  and  oblige, 
"Yours  truly, 

"  MAGDALEN." 

That  was  the  letter.  Not  one  word  in  it  to  Roger,  except 
as  the  sentence  beginning  with  "  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  all 
who  have  done  so  much  for  me,"  was  supposed  to  refer  to  him. 
She  wished  him  to  remember  her  kindly  as  she  did  him,  and 
she  was  going  away  from  Millbank,  but  where,  or  how,  or  with 
whom,  Roger  could  not  tell.  Hester  knew  she  was  going  to 
be  married,  though  why  "  she  should  want  to  lug  that  dud  of  a 
slip  round  with  her  finery  was  more  than  she  could  divine,"  she 
said,  as  she  brought  down  the  little  spotted  crimson  dress,  and 
wrapping  it  in  thick  brown  paper  gave  it  to  Roger  to  direct. 

"Maybe  you'll  write  her  a  line  or  two  for  me;  my  hand  is 
too  shaky  and  cramped,"  she  said  to  Roger,  who  shook  his  head 
and  replied,  "You  must  answer  your  own  letters,  Hester;" 
but  he  directed  the  little  parcel  to  "  Miss  Magdalen  Lennox, 
Belvider?,"  and  sent  it  on  its  way  to  Millbank. 


MAGDALEN1  S  DECISION.  241 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

M  A  G  D  A  L  E  N'S     DECISION. 

T  was  a  warm  morning  in  early  August  when  Magda 
len  came  fully  to  herself  and  looked  around  her  with 
a  feeling  of  wonder  and  uncertainty  as  to  where  she 
was  and  what  had  happened  to  her.  The  last  thing  she  could 
remember  distinctly  was  of  being  cold  and  chilly,  and  that  the 
night  wind  blew  upon  her  as  she  groped  her  way  back  to  her 
room.  Now  the  doors  and  windows  were  opened,  and  the 
warm  summer  rain  was  falling  on  the  lawn  outside  and  sifting 
down  among  the  green  leaves  of  the  honeysuckle  which  was 
trained  across  the  window.  There  were  flowers  in  her  room, 
—  summer  flowers,  —  such  as  grew  in  the  garden  beds,  and  it 
must  be  that  it  was  summer  now,  and  many  weeks  had  passed 
since  that  dreadful  night  whose  incidents  she  finally  recalled, 
knowing  at  last  what  had  happened  in  part.  She  had  found 
the  will,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  carried  it  to  Roger,  who 
was  not  as  angry  as  she  had  feared  he  might  be.  Nay,  he  was 
not  angry  at  all,  and  his  manner  towards  her  when  she  went  to 
him  in  the  library  had  belied  what  Frank  had  said,  and  her 
cheeks  flushed  and  her  pulse  throbbed  with  delight  as  she  felt 
again  the  kisses  Roger  had  rained  upon  her  lips  and  forehead 
and  hair,  and  heard  his  voice  calling  her —  "  Magda,  my  dar 
ling,  my  darling."  He  had  done  all  this  on  that  night  which 
must  have  been  so  long  ago,  and  that  meant  love,  and  Frank 
was  mistaken  or  wished  to  deceive  her,  and  she  should  tell  him 
so  and  free  herself  wholly  from  him  and  then  wait  for  Roger  to 
follow  up  his  words  and  acts,  as  he  was  bound  in  honor  to  do. 
Of  all  this  Magdalen  thought,  and  then  she  wondered  what  had 
been  done  about  the  will,  and  if  Roger  would  really  go  away 
from.  Millbank  ;  and  if  so,  would  he  take  her  with  him  or  leave 
her  for  awhile  and  come  for  her  again.  That  he  had  gone  she 
never  for  a  moment  suspected.  She  had  been  delirious,  she 


242  MAGDALEWS  DECISION. 

knew,  but  not  so  much  so  that  some  subtle  influence  would 
not  have  told  her  when  Roger  came  to  say  good-by.  He  was 
there  still.  He  had  arranged  those  beautiful  bouquets  which 
looked  so  fresh  and  bright,  and  had  set  those  violets  just  where 
she  could  see  them.  He  had  remembered  all  her  tastes,  and 
would  come  soon  to  see  her  and  be  so  glad  when  he  found 
how  much  better  she  was.  At  last  there  was  a  step  in  the  hall ; 
somebody  was  coming,  but  it  was  not  Roger,  nor  Frank,  nor 
yet  Celine.  She  had  finally  been  sent  away,  though  she  had 
stood  her  ground  bravely  for  a  time  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott's  lofty  ways  and  cool  hints  that  Miss  Lennox  would  do 
quite  as  well  with  a  stranger,  inasmuch  as  she  did  not  know 
one  person  from  another.  She  called  her  Miss  Lennox  now 
altogether.  Magdalen  would  have  been  too  familiar  and 
savored  too  much  of  relationship,  real  or  prospective,  and  this 
the  lady  was  determined  to  prevent.  But  she  said  nothing  as 
yet.  The  time  for  talking  had  not  come,  and  might  never  come 
if  Magdalen  only  had  sense  enough  to  answer  Frank  in  the 
negative.  He  was  still  anxious,  still  waiting  for  that  torpor 
to  pass  away  and  leave  Magdalen  herself  again.  In  his 
estimation  she  was  already  his,  for  surely  she  could  not  refuse 
him  now  when  everybody  looked  upon  the  marriage  as  a  set 
tled  thing,  and  he  insisted  that  everything  should  be  done  for 
her  comfort,  and  every  care  given  to  her  which  would  be 
given  to  Mrs.  Franklin  Irving.  And  in  this  his  mother  dared 
not  cross  him.  His  will  was  stronger  on  that  point  than  her 
own,  and  hence  the  perfect  order  in  the  sick-room,  and  the 
evidences  of  kind,  thoughtful  attention  which  Magdalen  had 
been  so  quick  to  detect.  In  one  thing,  however,  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  had  had  her  way.  She  had  dismissed  Celine  outright, 
and  put  in  her  place  a  maid  of  her  own  choosing,  and  it  was 
her  step  which  Magdalen  heard,  coming  towards  her  room. 
She  was  not  a  bad-faced  girl,  and  she  smiled  pleasantly  as  she 
spoke  to  Magdalen  and  said,  "  You  are  better  this  morning, 
Miss  Lennox." 

"  Yes,  a  great   deal   better.     Have  I  been  sick  long,  and 


MAGDALEN'S  DECISION.  243 

where  are  they  all  ?  Who  are  you,  and  where  is  Celine  ? " 
Magdalen  asked,  and  the  girl  replied,  "  She  left  here  some  two 
weeks  ago  and  I  came  in  her  place  ;  I  am  Sarah  King ;  can  ] 
do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  answer  my  questions.  How  long  have  I  been 
sick,  and  where  are  Hester  Floyd  and  Mr.  Irving  ?  " 

She  meant  Roger,  but  the  girl  was  thinking  of  Frank,  and 
replied,  "Mr.  Irving  went  to  Springfield  yesterday,  but  will  be 
home  to-night,  I  guess,  and  so  glad  to  find  you  better;  he  has 
been  so  concerned  about  you,  and  is  in  here  two  or  three  times 
a  day." 

"Is  he?"  and  Magdalen's  face  flushed  at  this  proof  of 
Roger's  interest  in  her. 

"Don't  you  remember  anything  about  it?"  the  girl  asked, 
and  Magdalen  replied,  "  Nothing ;  it  is  all  like  a  long,  disturbed 
sleep.  Where  is  Hester,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"You  mean  Mrs.  Floyd,  I  suppose;  she  has  been  gone  some 
time,  —  to  Schodick,  or  some  such  place.  She  went  with  old 
Mr.  Irving,  Mr.  Franklin's  uncle,  I  believe.  He  is  West  some 
where  now,  I  heard  madam  say.  I  have  never  seen  him,  nor 
Mrs.  Floyd." 

She  meant  Roger  by  old  Mr.  Irving,  and  ordinarily  Magda 
len  would  have  laughed  merrily  at  the  mistake,  but  now  she 
was  too  much  surprised  and  pained  to  give  it  more  than  a 
thought. 

"Roger,  Mr.  Roger  Irving  gone,  and  Hester,  too?"  she  cried. 
"  When  did  they  go,  and  why  did  they  leave  me  here  so  sick  ? 
has  everybody  gone  ?  Tell  me,  please,  all  you  know  about  it." 

Sarah  knew  very  little,  but  that  little  she  told,  and  then 
Magdalen  knew  that  of  all  the  once  happy  household  at  Mill- 
bank  she  was  left  alone.  Hester  was  gone,  the  old  servants 
gone,  and  Roger  was  gone,  too.  That  was  the  hardest  part  of 
all,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  a  feeling  of  homesick 
ness  came  stealing  over  her. 

"  I'd  better  call  Mrs.  Irving,"  Sarah  said,  puzzled  to  know 
why  Magdalen  should  cry,  and  she  left  the  room  to  do  so. 


244  MAGDALEN'S  DECISION. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  came  in,  habited 
in  white,  with  puffs  and  tucks  and  rich  embroidery  wherever 
there  was  a  place  for  it,  and  on  her  head  a  jaunty  little  morn 
ing  cap  of  the  softest  Valenciennes,  with  a  bit  of  lavender  rib 
bon  to  relieve  it.  She  was  not  all  smiles  and  tenderness  now, 
and  there  was  about  her  a  studied  politeness  wholly  different 
from  her  old  caressing  manner  toward  Magdalen. 

"Sarah  tells  me  you  are  better  this  morning,  and  you  do  look 
greatly  improved,"  she  said,  standing  back  a  little  from  the  bed 
and  feigning  not  to  see  the  hand  which  Magdalen  held  toward 
her. 

Magdalen  felt  the  change  in  a  moment  and  understood  the 
cause.  Mrs.  Irving  was  now  the  undisputed  mistress  of  Mill- 
bank,  and  she  the  poor  dependant,  'left  there  on  the  lady's 
hands,  a  burden  and  a  drag  whom  nobody  wanted.  That  was 
the  way  Magdalen  put  it,  and  her  tears  fell  like  rain  as  she  re 
plied,  "  Yes,  I  am  better,  but  I,  —  I  —  don't  understand  it  at 
all,  or  why  I  should  be  left  here  alone ;  why  didn't  they  take  me 
with  them  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  because  you  were  too  sick  to  be  moved,  though 
I  knew  but  little  about  their  movements.  Mrs.  Floyd  was  so 
very  rude  and  ill-bred  that  I  kept  out  of  her  way  as  much  as 
possible,  and  as  Roger  avoided  me,  I  saw  but  little  of  them. 
It  is  not  worth  while  to  distress  yourself  unnecessarily,"  the 
cruel  woman  went  on  as  she  saw  how  Magdalen  cried.  "  We 
have  taken  every  possible  care  of  you  and  shall  continue  to  do 
so  until  you  are  well,  when,  if  you,  wish  to  join  your  friends  in 
Schodick,  we  will  provide  the  means  for  you  to  do  so." 

Nothing  could  be  cooler  than  her  tone  and  manner  and 
words,  and  but  for  her  face,  which  there  was  no  mistaking,  Mag 
dalen  would  have  doubted  her  identity  with  the  oily-tongued 
woman  who  used  to  caress  and  pet  her  so  much,  and  to  whom 
at  one  time  she  had  paid  a  kind  of  child-worship.  But  it  was 
the  same  woman,  and  she  stood  a  moment  longer,  looking 
coldly  at  Magdalen,  and  picking  a  dried  leaf  or  two  from  the 
vase  of  flowers  on  the  stand ;  then  consulting  her  watch  she 


MAGDALENE  DECISION.  24$ 

said,  "  You  must  excuse  me  now,  as  I  have  an  engagement  at 
ten.  Sarah  will  see  that  you  have  everything  you  want.  You 
will  find  her  an  excellent  nurse.  I  chose  her  myself  from  a 
dozen  applicants  for  the  place.  I'll  see  you  again  by  and  by, 
I  wish  you  good-morning." 

For  a  few  moments  Magdalen  lay  like  one  stunned ;  then,  as 
she  began  to  reason  upon  the  matter  and  to  understand  it  more 
clearly,  her  pride  came  to  her  aid ;  and  when  at  last  Sarah  went 
back  to  her,  she  found  her  with  flushed  cheeks  and  a  resolute, 
determined  look  in  her  eyes,  which  flashed  and  sparkled  with 
much  of  their  former  fire. 

Frank  did  not  return  till  the  next  night.  There  was  a  horse 
race  in  Springfield  and  he  had  Firefly  there  and  put  him  on  the 
course  and  won  a  bet  and  made  for  himself  quite  a  reputation 
as  a  horse-jockey ;  and  he  paid  Holt's  bills  at  the  Massasoit 
House,  and  sent  bottles  of  champagne  to  sundry  other  "  good 
fellows  "  who  had  praised  his  skill  in  driving  and  praised  his 
horse  and  nattered  him  generally.  Then  he  promised  to  look 
at  another  horse  which  somebody  recommended  as  unsurpassed 
in  the  saddle,-  and  took  several  shares  in  a  new  speculation 
which  was  sure  to  go  if  "  the  rich  Mr.  Irving  patronized  it," 
and  which  if  it  went  was  sure  to  pay  double.  Judge  Burleigh, 
of  Boston,  wht>  was  stopping  at  the  Massasoit,  had  sought  him 
out  and  introduced  his  daughter  Bell,  a  handsome,  haughty  girl, 
who  had  made  fun  of  his  light  mustache  and  boyish  face  before 
she  knew  who  he  was,  and  then  been  very  gracious  to  him 
after.  Bell  Burleigh  was  poor  and  fashionable  and  extravagant, 
and  on  the  lookout  for  a  husband.  Frank  Irving  was  rich, 
and  master  of  the  finest  residence  in  the  county,  and  worth 
cultivating,  and  so  she  expended  upon  him  every  art  known  to 
a  thorough  woman  of  the  world,  and  walked  with  him  through 
the  halls  and  sat  with  him  in  the  parlor  in  the  evening,  and 
went  out  in  the  morning  to  see  him  drive  Firefly  round  the 
course,  and  had  her  father  ask  him  to  their  table  at  dinner 
time,  and  flattered  and  courted  him  until  he  began  to  wonder 
why  other  people  beside  Bell  Burleigh  had  not  discovered  what 


24-6  MAGDALEN1  S  DECISION1. 

an  entertaining  and  agreeable  man  he  was  !  But  through  it  all 
he  never  for  a  moment  wavered  in  his  allegiance  to  Magdalen. 
Bell's  influence  could  not  make  him  do  that ;  but  it  inflated  hi? 
pride  and  made  him  less  able  to  bear  the  humiliation  to  which 
Magdalen  was  about  to  subject  him. 

After  her  first  interview  with  Magdalen,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
did  not  see  her  again  until  her  son  returned,  though  she  sent 
twice  to  know  how  she  was  feeling  and  if  she  would  have  any 
thing.  To  these  inquiries  Magdalen  had  answered  that  she 
was  doing  very  well  and  did  not  want  anything  more  than  she 
already  had,  and  this  was  all  that  had  passed  between  the  two 
ladies  when  Frank  came  home  from  Springfield.  He  heard 
from  Sarah  of  the  change  in  Magdalen ;  but  heard,  too,  that 
she  could  not  see  him  that  night,  as  she  had  been  sitting  up 
some  little  time  and  was  very  tired.  The  next  day  it  was  the 
same,  and  the  next.  She  was  too  weak  to  talk,  and  would 
rather  Mr.  Irving  should  wait  before  she  saw  him.  And  so 
Frank  waited  and  chafed  and  fretted  and  lost  his  temper  with 
his  mother,  who  maintained  through  all  the  utmost  reserve  with 
regard  to  Magdalen,  feeling  intuitively  that  matters  were  adjust 
ing  themselves  to  her  satisfaction.  She  guessed  what  the  delay 
portended,  and  on  the  strength  of  it  went  once  or  twice  to  the 
sick  room,  and  was  a  little  more  gracious  than  at  first.  But 
Magdalen  was  very  reserved  toward  her  now,  barely  answering 
her  questions,  and  seeming  relieved  when  she  went  away. 

Frank  saw  her  at  last.  She  was  sitting  up  in  her  easy  chair, 
and  her  face  was  very  pale  at  first,  but  flushed  and  grew  crim 
son  as  Frank  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  forehead  and  called 
her  his  darling,  and  told  her  how  glad  he  was  to  find  her  better, 
and  how  miserable  he  had  been  during  the  last  few  days  be 
cause  he  could  not  see  her. 

"  It  was  naughty  in  you  to  banish  me  so  long.  Don't  you 
think  so,  darling?"  he  said  playfully,  as  he  stooped  again  to 
kiss  her. 

He  was  taking  everything  for  granted,  and  Magdalen  gasped 


MAGDALEN'1 S  DECISION.  247 

for  breath  as  she  put  up  both  hands  to  thrust  him  aside,  foi 
she  felt  as  if  she  were  smothering  with  him  so  near  to  her. 

"  Sit  down,  Frank,"  she  said,  "  sit  there  by  the  window,"  and 
she  pointed  to  a  seat  so  far  from  her  that  more  kisses  were  oul 
of  the  question. 

Something  in  her  tone  startled  him,  and  he  sat  where  she 
bade  him  sit  and  then  listened  breathlessly  while  she  went  ovei 
the  whole  ground  carefully,  and  at  last,  as  gently  as  possible, 
for  she  would  not  unnecessarily  wound  him,  told  him  she  could 
not  be  his  wife. 

"  I  decided  that  before  I  knew  Roger  had  the  will,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  so  on  that  dreadful  day  when 
so  much  happened  here.  I  like  you,  Frank,  and  I  know  you 
have  been  very  kind  to  me,  but  I  cannot  be  your  wife ;  I  do 
not  love  you  well  enough  for  that." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Frank  begged  her  to  consider,  to  take 
time  to  think.  She  surely  did  not  know  what  she  was  doing 
when  she  refused  him ;  and  he  thought  of  Bell  Burleigh  and 
all  the  llattery  he  had  received  in  Springfield,  and  wished  Mag 
dalen  could  know  how  highly  some  people  esteemed  him. 

Magdalen  understood  him  in  part,  and  smiled  a  little  derisive 
ly  as  she  replied  :  "  I  know  well  what  I  am  doing,  Frank  ;  I  am 
refusing  one  who,  the  world  would  say,  was  far  above  me,  —  a 
poor  girl,  with  neither  home,  nor  friends,  nor  name." 

"What,  then,  do  you  propose  to  do?"  Frank  asked,  "if,  as 
you  say,  you  are  without  home  or  friends." 

"  I  don't  know.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Some  way  will  be  pro 
vided,"  Magdalen  answered  sadly,  her  heart  going  out  in  a  long 
ing  cry  after  Roger. 

As  if  divining  the  thought,  and  feeling  jealous  and  angry  on 
account  of  it,  Frank  continued  : 

"  You  surely  would  not  go  to  Schodick  now.  Even  your 
love  for  Roger  would  not  allow  you  to  do  so  umnaidenly  a 
thing  as  that." 

He  spoke  bitterly,  for  he  felt  bitterly,  and  when  he  saw  how 
white  Magdalen  grew,  and  how  she  gasped  for  breath,  he  wenf 


248  MA  GDALEW  S  DE  CIS  I  ON. 

on  pitilessly, — "  I  think  I  know  what  stands  between  us.  You 
fancy  you  love  Roger  best." 

"  Hush  !  Frank,  hush  ! "  Magdalen  cried,  and  the  color  came 
rushing  back  into  her  face.  "  If  I  do  love  Roger  best,  it  is  not 
to  be  mentioned  between  us,  and  you  must  respect  the  feeling. 
He  does  not  care  for  me,  or  he  would  not  have  left  me  here  so 
sick,  without  a  word  of  farewell  to  be  given  when  I  could  un 
derstand  it.  Did  he  leave  any  message,  Frank  ?  " 

Had  Magdalen  been  stronger,  she  would  never  have  admitted 
what  she  was  admitting  to  Frank,  who,  still  more  piqued  and  ir 
ritated,  answered  her,  "  None  that  I  ever  heard  of." 

"  Or  come  to  see  me  either  ?  Didn't  he  do  so  much  as 
that  ?  " 

Frank  could  have  told  her  of  the  many  nights  and  days 
when  Roger  never  left  her  side,  except  as  it  was  absolutely  nec 
essary  ;  but  he  would  not  even  tell  her  that ;  he  merely  said :  "  I 
dare  say  he  looked  in  upon  you  before  he  left,  but  I  do  not 
know.  He  was  very  busy  those  last  few  days,  and  had  a  great 
deal  to  do." 

Magdalen's  lip  quivered,  but  she  made  a  great  effort  not  to 
show  how  much  she  was  pained  by  Roger's  seeming  indiffer 
ence  and  neglect.  Still,  it  did  show  upon  her  face,  for  she  was 
weak,  and  tired,  and  worn,  and  the  great  tears  came  dropping 
from  her  eyes,  as  she  thought  how  mistaken  she  had  been,  and 
how  desolate  and  alone  she  was  in  the  great  world.  And 
Frank  pitied  her  at  last,  and  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  would 
not  say  a  word  which  would  give  her  hope  with  regard  to 
Roger.  He  should  not  consider  her  answer  as  final,  he  said, 
when  she  begged  him  to  leave  her.  She  would  feel  differently 
by  and  by,  when  she  saw  matters  as  they  really  were.  She  had 
no  other  home  but  Millbank,  as  she,  of  course,  would  not  follow 
Roger  to  Schodick.  He  placed  great  emphasis  on  the  word 
follow,  and  Magdalen  felt  her  blood  tingle  to  her  finger  tips  as 
he  went  on  to  say,  that,  let  her  decision  be  what  it  might,  her 
rightful  place  was  there  at  Millbank,  which  he  wished  her  to 
consider  her  home,  just  as  she  always  had  done.  She  surely 


MAGDALEN'S  DECISION.  240 

ought  to  be  as  willing  to  look  to  him  for  support  as  to  Roger, 
who  was  in  no  condition  now  to  enlarge  his  household,  even  if 
he  wished  to  do  it. 

He  left  her  then,  and  went  at  once  to  his  mother.  He  had 
staked  his  all  on  Magdalen,  and  he  must  not  lose  her,  —  for 
aside  from  the  great  trial  it  would  be  to  him,  there  was  the 
bitter  mortification  he  would  be  compelled  to  endure,  for  he 
had  suffered  the  people  of  Belvidere  to  believe  in  his  engage 
ment,  and  Magdalen  must  be  won,  or  at  least  kept  at  Mill- 
l.ank  and  in  order  to  do  this  there  must  be  a  perfect  under 
standing  between  himself  and  his  mother.  And  after  a  half 
hour's  interview  there  was  a  perfect  understanding,  and  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  knew  that  if  by  word  or  sign  she  helped  Mag 
dalen  to  a  knowledge  of  Roger's  love  for  her,  and  so  sep 
arated  her  from  Frank,  just  so  sure  would  he  carry  out  his 
former  threat,  of  deeding  Millbank  away.  That  point  was 
settled,  and  another  too,  which  was,  that  Magdalen  should  be 
treated  with  all  the  kindness  and  attention  due  to  an  inmate  of 
the  house,  and  one  who  might,  perhaps,  be  its  mistress. 

"  But  whether  she  is  or  not,  mother,  you've  got  to  come 
down  from  your  stilts,  and  treat  her  as  you  did  before  the  con 
founded  will  was  found,  or,  by  the  Harry,  I'll  do  something 
you'll  be  sorry  for." 

Frank's  recent  intercourse  with  horse-jockeys,  and  men  of 
the  race-course,  had  not  improved  his  language  ;  but  he  was  in 
earnest,  and  his  mother  promised  whatever  he  required,  and 
kept  her  promise  all  the  more  readily,  because  she  knew  that 
do  what  he  would,  and  plead  as  he  might,  Magdalen  would  nev- 
er  be  his  wife. 
u* 


250  THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE   END. 

j]ANTED,  —  A  young  woman  of  pleasing  address,  and 
cultivated  manners,  as  companion  for  a  young  lady 
who  suffers  greatly  from  ill  health  and  nervous  de 
pression.     It  is  desirable  that  the  applicant  should  be  both  a 
good  reader  and  good  musician. 
"  Address,  for  four  weeks, 

"  MRS.  PENELOPE  SEYMOUR, 

'  St.  Denis,  New  York.' 

This  advertisement  was  in  the  Herald,  which  Frank  laid 
upon  the  table  in  the  room  where  both  his  mother  and  Mag 
dalen  were  sitting.  It  was  four  weeks  since  Magdalen's  first 
awakening  to  perfect  consciousness  after  her  long  illness,  and  in 
that  time  she  had  improved  rapidly.  She  went  to  the  table 
now,  and  had  ridden  two  or  three  times  with  Mrs.  Walter  Scott, 
between  whom  and  herself  there  was  a  kind  of  tacit  under 
standing  that,  so  long  as  they  remained  together,  each  was  to  be 
as  civil  and  polite  to  the  other  as  possible,  knowing  the  while 
that  each  would  be  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  other's  society. 
Frank  had  made  several  efforts  to  ride  with  Magdalen.  He 
wanted  to  exhibit  her  in  town  with  his  new  bays,  which  he  had 
bought  for  an  enormous  sum.  But  Magdalen  always  made 
some  excuse ;  and  without  seeming  to  do  it,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
helped  her  to  avoid  him,  so  that  he  had  had  no  opportunity  for 
seeing  her  alone,  since  the  interview  in  her  chamber,  when  she 
told  him  her  answer  was  final,  and  he  had  refused  to  consider  it 
as  such.  He  had  been  invited  to  join  a  party  of  young  men 
from  Hartford  and  Springfield,  who  were  going  on  a  fishing  ex 
cursion  to  the  Thousand  Islands  and  from  thence  into  Can 
ada,  if  there  should  prove  to  be  good  hunting  there,  and  when 


THE  BEGINNING    OF   THE  END.  2$  L 

he  brought  the  Herald  into  the  sitting-room,  he  came  also  to 
say  good-by  to  his  mother  and  Magdalen. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  be  gone  six  weeks,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  his 
mother's  questions  as  to  his  return,  and  he  looked  at  Magdalen 
to  see  how  she  would  take  it. 

She  was  relieved  rather  than  sorry,  and  he  saw  it,  and  felt  a 
good  deal  chagrined,  as  he  shook  her  hand  at  parting,  and  re 
ceived  her  kind  wishes  for  a  pleasant  trip.  After  he  was  gone, 
she  took  up  the  Herald,  and  ran  her  eye  over  its  columns,  till 
she  reached  the  list  of  "  Wanted."  She  had  studied  that  list 
before,  for  she  had  it  in  her  mind  to  find  some  situation,  as 
teacher  or  governess,  which  would  take  her  from  Millbank  and 
make  her  independent  of  every  one.  She  saw  the  advertise 
ment  for  a  young  woman,  who  was  "  a  good  reader,  and  good 
musician."  She  knew  she  was  both,  and  knew,  too,  that  she 
was  of  "pleasing  address"  and  "cultivated  manners."  She 
did  not  object  to  being  a  companion  for  an  invalid.  It  would 
be  easier  than  a  teacher's  life,  and  she  would  write  to  "Mrs. 
Penelope  Seymour"  and  see  what  that  lady  had  to  say.  Ac 
cordingly,  the  very  next  mail  which  went  to  New  York  from 
Belvidere  carried  a  letter  of  inquiry  from  Magdalen  to  Mrs. 
Seymour,  whose  reply  came  at  once  ;  a  short  note,  written  in  a 
plain,  square  hand,  and  directly  to  the  point.  There  had  been 
many  applications  for  the  situation,  but  something  in  Miss 
Lennox's  manner  of  expressing  herself  had  turned  the  scale  in 
her  favor,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  would  be  glad  to  see  her  at  the 
St.  Denis,  as  soon  as  possible.  Terms,  five  hundred  dollars  a 
year,  with  a  great  deal  of  leisure. 

Five  hundred  dollars  a  year  seemed  a  vast  amount  of  money 
tc  Magdalen,  who  had  never  earned  a  penny  since  the  berries 
picked  for  that  photograph  sent  to  Roger,  and  she  began  at 
once  to  think  how  she  would  lay  it  up,  until  she  had  enough  to 
make  it  worth  giving  to  Roger,  who  should  not  know  from 
whence  it  came,  so  adroitly  would  she  manage.  She  had  in  her 
own  mind  accepted  the  situation,  but,  before  she  wrote  again  to 
Mrs.  Seymour,  it  would  be  proper  to  lay  the  case  before  Mrs. 


2$2  THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END. 

Walter  Scott,  and,  for  form's  sake,  ask  her  advice.  That  lady 
was  delighted,  for  now  a  riddance  from  Magdalen  was  sure 
without  her  intervention,  but  she  kept  her  delight  to  herself 
and  seemed,  for  several  minutes,  to  be  considering.  Then  she 
said  something  about  its  not  being  what  her  son  expected  01 
wished,  and  asked  if  Magdalen  was  fully  resolved  not  to  marry 
Frank. 

Magdalen  knew  this  to  be  a  mere  ruse,  done  for  politeness' 
sake,  and  she  bit  her  lip  to  keep  from  answering  hastily. 

Her  decision  was  final,  she  said.  She  should  probably  never 
marry  any  one  certainly  not  Frank ;  and  she  could  not  remain 
at  Millbank  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary.  Mrs.  Irving 
must  know  how  very  unpleasant  it  was,  and  what  an  awkward 
position  it  placed  her  in. 

Mrs.  Irving  did  know,  and  fully  appreciated  Magdalen's  nice 
sense  of  propriety,  and  she  was  very  gracious  to  the  young 
girl,  and  said  she  was  welcome  to  stay  at  Millbank  as  long  as 
she  liked,  but,  if  she  preferred  to  be  less  dependent,  she  re 
spected  the  feeling,  and  thought,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Seymour's  offer 
was  as  good  as  she  would  have,  and  it  might  be  well  to  accept  it. 

And  so  it  was  accepted,  and  Magdalen  made  haste  to  get 
away,  before  Frank's  return.  She  hunted  for  the  little  dress, 
impelled  by  a  feeling  that  somewhere  in  the  wide  world, 
into  which  she  was  going,  she  might  find  her  mother,  and 
she  would  have  every  possible  link  by  which  the  identity  could 
be  proven.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  told  her  that  Hester  Floyd 
took  the  chest  of  linen  in  which  the  dress  was  laid  and  so  she 
wrote  to  Hester  the  letter  we  have  seen.  Once  she  thought 
to  send  some  word  direct  to  Roger,  but  her  pride  came  up  to 
prevent  that.  He  had  never  written  to  her,  or  sent  to  inquire 
for  her  that  she  knew  of,  for  Frank  had  not  told  her  of  a  letter 
written  on  the  prairies,  in  which  Roger  had  inquired  anxiously 
for  her  and  asked  to  be  remembered.  Roger  did  not  care  for 
her  message's,  she  thought,  and  she  wrote  as  formally  as  possi 
ble,  and  then,  with  a  strange  inconsistency,  expected  that  Roger 
would  answer  the  letter.  But  only  the  package  came,  directed 


MRS.    PENELOPE  SEYMOUR.  253 

in  his  handwriting,  and  Magdalen  could  have  cried  when  she 
saw  there  was  nothing  more.  She  cut  the  direction  out,  and 
put  it  away  in  a  little  box,  with  all  the  letters  Roger  had  writ 
ten  her  from  Europe,  and  then  went  steadily  on  with  her  prep 
arations  for  leaving  Millbank. 

It  was  known,  now,  in  town,  that  Magdalen  was  going  away, 
ard  it  created  quite  a  sensation  among  her  circle  of  friends. 
Sue  was  not  to  marry  Frank.  She  was  not  as  mercenary  as 
many  had  believed  her  to  be,  and  the  tide  turned  in  her  favor, 
and  Mrs.  Johnson  called  with  her  daughter  Nellie,  now  Mrs. 
Marsh,  of  Boston,  and  all  the  elite  of  the  town  came  up  to  see 
her,  and  without  expressing  it  in  words,  managed  to  let  her 
know  how  much  she  had  risen  in  their  estimation  by  the  step 
she  was  taking.  They  could  not  quite  understand  it  all,  but 
they  spoke  encouragingly  to  her,  and  invited  her  to  their 
houses,  whenever  she  chose  to  come,  and  went  to  the  depot 
to  see  her  off,  on  the  bright  autumnal  day  when  she  finally  left 
Millbank  for  a  home  with  Mrs.  Penelope  Seymour. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MRS.    PENELOPE    SEYMOUR. 

|AGDALEN   felt  herself  growing  very  nervous   and 

uneasy  as  the  long  train  came  slowly  into  New  York, 
and  car  after  car  was  detached  and  drawn  away  by 
horses.  She  was  in  the  last  of  all,  and  was  feeling  very  forlorn 
and  homesick  and  half  inclined  to  cry,  just  as  a  voice  by  the 
door  asked  :  "  Is  Miss  Lennox,  from  Belvidere,  here?" 

There  was  reassurance  in  the  tone  of  the  voice,  and  reassur 
ance  in  the  expression  of  the  frank,  open  face  of  the  young 
man,  who,  as  Magdalen  rose  from  her  seat,  came  quickly  to 
her  side,  and  doffing  his  hat,  said  :  "  Miss  Lennox,  I  presume  ? 
i  am  Guy  Seymour,  Aunt  Pen's  nephew,  or  as  she  would  tell 


254  MRS.   PENELOPE  SEYMOUR. 

you,  her  husband's  nephew,  and  she  has  kept  me  in  a  constant 
state  of  worry  the  entire  day  on  your  account.  I  was  at  the 
depot  at  least  an  hour  before  there  was  any  possible  hope  c\ 
the  train,  and  as  you  are  an  hour  behind,  that  makes  two  hours 
I  have  waited,  so  you  see  I  have  done  my  duty.  Allow  me  to 
take  your  satchel  and  umbrella.  You  haven't  a  bandbox,  have 
you?" 

The  comical  look  in  the  saucy  brown  eyes,,  which  turned 
upon  Magdalen,  betrayed  the  fact  that  he  was  quizzing  her  a 
little.  But  Magdalen  did  not  mind  it.  She  felt  a  kind  of 
security  with  him,  and  liked  him  at  once  in  spite  of  the  band 
box  thrust. 

"  This  way,  please ;  perhaps  you'd  better  take  my  arm,"  he 
said,  as  he  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  a  carriage,  which 
was  waiting  for  him. 

When  once  fairly  seated,  Magdalen  had  leisure  to  study  her 
vis-h-vis  more  closely.  He  was  apparently  twenty-five  or 
twenty-six  years  of  age,  a  young  man  who  had  seen  a  great  deal 
of  fashion  and  society,  and  who  still  retained  about  him  a  cer 
tain  air  of  frankness  and  candor  and  simplicity,  which  opened 
a  way  for  him  at  once  to  every  stranger's  heart.  There  was 
something  in  the  wave  of  his  hair  and  the  cast  of  his  head  which 
reminded  Magdalen  of  Roger,  and  made  her  feel  as  if  she  had 
found  a  friend.  He  was  inclined  to  be  quite  sociable,  and  after 
exhausting  the  weather,  he  said  to  her,  "  You  are  from  Belvi- 
dere,  I  believe  ?  Do  you  know  a  Mr.  Irving  there,  the  one 
who  has  so  recently  come  into  a  fortune  ?  " 

Magdalen  looked  quickly  up,  and  her  face  was  scarlet  as  she 
replied,  "  I  know  him,  yes.  Is  he  an  acquaintance  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  was  two  years  behind  him  in  college,  but  sophs  and  sen 
iors  are  as  widely  apart  as  the  poles.  I  wonder  if  he  is  greatly 
improved.  I  used  to  think  him  a  kind  of  a  prig." 

'•''  I  may  as  well  start  with  a  right  understanding  at  once," 
Magdalen  thought,  and  she  answered  a  little  haughtily.  "  Mr. 
Frank  Irving  is  a  friend  of  mine.  I  have  known  him  ever  since 
I  can  remember.  Millbank  is  the  only  home  I  have  ever  had." 


MRS.   PENELOPE  SEYMOUR.  2$$ 

Magdalen  thought  her  companion  came  near  whistling  in  his 
surprise,  and  she  felt  sure  that  he  was  regarding  her  more  curi 
ously  than  he  had  done  before,  while  for  some  reason  he  seemed 
more  attentive  and  polite,  and  by  the  time  the  St.  Denis  was 
reached,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  known  him  months  instead  of  a 
brief  half  hour. 

"  You  must  not  mind  if  you  find  Aunt  Pen  a  little  stiff  at 
first.  She  has  a  great  deal  of  starch  in  her  composition,"  he 
said  as  he  ran  up  the  stairs  and  down  the  hall  in  the  direction 
of  No.  — . 

And  stiff,  indeed,  Magdalen  did  find  Aunt  Pen,  as  the  nephew 
called  her.  A  little,  short,  straight,  square-backed  woman  of 
sixty  or  thereabouts,  with  iron-gray  hair,  arranged  in  puffs 
around  her  forehead,  —  a  proud,  haughty,  wrinkled  face,  and 
round  bright  eyes,  which  seemed  to  look  straight  through  Mag 
dalen  as  Guy  ushered  her  into  the  room. 

"  Miss  Lennox,  Auntie  Pen,"  he  said,  and  taking  Magdalen 
by  the  arm  he  led  her  up  to  his  aunt,  who  felt  constrained  to 
offer  her  jewelled  hand,  but  who  did  it  in  such  a  way  that  Mag 
dalen  felt  the  conventional  gulf  there  was  between  them  in  the 
lady's  mind,  and  winced  under  it. 

"  I  hope  you'll  order  dinner  at  once,"  Guy  continued.  "The 
train  was  an  hour  behind,  and  Miss  Lennox  is  fearfully  tired. 
I'll  ring  myself,"  and  he  touched  the  bell  rope  while  Mrs.  Sey 
mour  was  saying  something  about  being  glad  to  see  Miss  Len 
nox,  and  hoping  she  was  not  very  tired. 

Oh  how  strange  and  lonely  Magdalen  felt,  when  at  last  she 
was  alone  in  her  room  for  a  few  moments,  while  she  arranged 
her  hair  and  made  herself  more  presentable  for  dinner  !  The 
windows  looked  out  into  i  dreary  court,  and  tears  sprang  to 
Magdalen's  eyes  as  she  felt  the  contrast  between  these  dingy 
brick  walls  and  that  damp,  mouldy  pavement,  and  the  fresh 
green  grass  and  wealth  of  flowers  and  shrubbery  and  forest 
trees  which  for  years  had  been  hers  to  gaze  upon.  Suppose  she 
was  to  live  at  the  St.  Denis  for  years,  and  to  occupy  that  room 
into  which  the  sun  never  penetrated.  And  for  aught  she  knew, 


256  MRS.    PENELOPE  SEYMOUR. 

such  WAS  to  be  her  fate.  She  had  made  no  inquiries  as  to 
where  she  was  to  live,  whether  in  city  or  country,  hotel  or 
private  house.  Her  orders  were  to  come  to  the  St.  Denis,  and 
there  she  was,  and  her  heart  was  aching  with  homesickness,  and 
a  longing  to  be  away, — not  at  Millbank,  but  with  Roger,  wherevei 
he  was.  With  him  was  home  and  happiness  and  rest,  such  as 
Magdalen  felt  she  should  never  rind  again.  But  it  would  not 
do  now  to  indulge  in  feelings  like  these.  There  was  dinner 
waiting  for  her,  as  Guy's  cheery  voice  announced  outside  her 
door.  "  Never  mind  stopping  to  dress  to-night.  It  won't  pay, 
and  Aunt  Pen  don't  expect  it.  She  is  dressed  enough  for  both," 
he  said  ;  then  he  went  away,  and  Magdalen  heard  him  whistling 
a  part  of  a  favorite  opera,  and  felt  glad  and  grateful  that  at  the 
very  outset  of  he\r  career  she  had  met  Guy  Seymour  to  smooth 
away  the  rough  places  for  her  as  he  was  doing  in  more  ways 
than  she  knew  of,  or  ever  would  know.  To  him  she  owed  it 
that  she  was  not  left  to  find  her  way  alone  from  the  depot  to  the 
hotel. 

"There  is  no  need  of  your  going  for  her.  People  of  her  class 
can  always  find  their  way,"  his  aunt  had  said  to  him  in  the 
morning,  when  he  asked  what  time  she  expected  her  Yankee 
school-mdam  to  arrive,  saying  he  wished  to  know  so  as  to  have 
nothing  in  the  way  of  his  going  up  to  meet  her. 

To  his  aunt's  suggestion  that  "people  of  her  class  could 
usually  find  their  way,"  he  gave  one  of  his  pet  whistles,  and  said, 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is  one  of  the  '  people  of  her  class  ? ' 
And  supposing  she  is,  she  is  a  woman,  and  young  and  possibly 
good  looking,  and  New  York  is  an  awful  place  for  a  young,  good- 
looking  woman  to  land  in,  an  entire  stranger.  So,  ma  chere 
auntie,  I  shall  meet  her  just  as  I  should  want  some  chap  of  a 
Guy  Seymour  to  meet  my  sister  if  I  had  one.  And,  auntie,  I 
beg  of  you  to  unbend  a  little,  and  try  to  make  her  feel  at  home. 
I've  no  doubt  she'll  be  as  homesick  as  I  was  the  first  time  I 
ever  visited  you  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  cried  so  hard  to  go 
home  that  I  vomited  up  that  quart  of  green  gooseberries  I  had 
eaten  surreptitiously  out  in  the  garden.  Do  you  remember  it  ?  • 


MRS.    PENELOPE  SEYMOUR.  257 

And  so  kind-hearted  Guy  had  his  way,  and  when  he  told 
Magdalen  that  his  aunt  had  kept  him  in  a  constant  worry  on 
her  account,  he  had  reference  to  a  widely  different  state  ol 
affairs  from  what  his  words  implied  and  what  he  meant  they 
should  imply.  He  had  been  fighting  for  her  all  day  and  insist 
ing  that  if  she  was  a  lady  she  should  be  treated  as  a  lady,  and 
when  he  met  her  at  the  depot,  he  felt  that  he  had  been  wholly 
right  in  the  course  he  had  pursued. 

She  was  a  lady,  and  pretty,  too,  as  nearly  as  he  could  judge 
through  the  drab  veil  which  covered  her  face.  The  veil  was 
off  when  she  came  out  to  dinner,  and  Guy,  who  met  her  at  the 
door  and  conducted  her  to  the  table,  started  a  little  to  see  how 
beautiful  and  graceful  she  was,  and  how  like  a  queen  she  bore 
herself  toward  his  aunt,  who  took  her  in  now,  from  her  black, 
shining  hair  to  the  sweep  and  cut  of  her  fashionable  travelling 
dress. 

"That  is  last  spring's  style.  It  must  have  been  made  in 
New  York,"  was  Mrs.  Seymour's  mental  comment,  and  she  felt 
a  growing  respect  for  one  whose  dress  bore  so  unmistakably  the 
New  York  stamp  upon  it. 

She  was  dressed  in  satin,  —  soft,  French  gray  satin,  —  whose 
heavy  folds  stood  out  from  her  slender  figure  and  covered  up 
the  absence  of  hoops,  which  she  never  wore.  There  was  a  point 
lace  coiffure  on  her  head  and  point  lace  at  her  throat  and  wrists, 
and  diamonds  on  her  fat  white  hands,  and  she  looked  to  the 
full  a  lady  of  the  high  position  and  blood  which  she  professed, 
and  she  was  very  kind  to  Magdalen,  albeit  there  was  a  certain 
stiffness  in  her  manner  which  would  have  precluded  the  slightest 
approach  to  anything  like  familiarity  had  Magdalen  attempted 
it. 

Evidently  there  was  something  about  Magdalen  which  riveted 
her  attention,  for  she  omitted  no  opportunity  for  looking  at  her 
when  Magdalen  did  not  know  it,  and  at  certain  turns  of  the 
head  and  flashes  of  the  large,  restless  eyes  which  sometimes 
met  hers  so  suddenly,  she  found  herself  perplexed  and  bewil 
dered,  and  wondering  when  or  where  she  had  seen  eyes  like 


2 $8  MRS.    PENELOPE  SEYMOUR. 

these  whose  glance  she  did  not  like  to  meet,  but  which  never 
theless  kept  flashing  upon  her,  and  then  turning  quickly  away. 
Guy,  too,  caught  now  and  then  a  familiar  likeness  to  something 
seen  before ;  but  it  was  not  in  the  eyes  or  the  turn  of  the 
head,  —  it  was  more  in  the  expression  of  the  mouth  and  the 
smile  which  made  Magdalen  so  beautiful,  while  there  was  some 
thing  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  like  another  voice  which  in  all  the 
world  made  the  sweetest  music  for  him.  He  knew  of  whom 
Magdalen  reminded  him,  though  the  faces  of  the  two  were  no 
more  alike  than  a  brilliant  rose  and  a  fair,  white  water-lily. 
Still  the  sight  of  Magdalen  and  the  silvery  ring  of  her  voice 
brought  the  absent  one  very  near  to  him,  and  made  him  still 
kinder  and  more  attentive  to  the  young  girl  whose  champion  he 
had  undertaken  to  be. 

"  Is  it  still  your  intention  to  leave  New  York  to-morrow,  or 
will  you  give  Miss  Lennox  a  day  in  the  city  for  sight-seeing  ? 
I  dare  say  she  would  like  it  better  than  plunging  at  once  into 
that  solitude  of  rocks  and  hills  and  running  rills,"  Guy  said  to 
his  aunt,  who  replied  :  "  I  had  intended  to  leave  to-morrow.  I 
am  beginning  to  long  for  the  solitude,  as  you  call  it,  and  unless 
Miss  Lennox  is  very  anxious  to  see  the  city  —  " 

"  Of  course  she  is.  Every  young  girl  wants  to  see  the  Park 
and  Broadway  and  the  picture  galleries,  especially  if  she  has 
never  been  in  New  York  before.  But  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss 
Lennox ;  for  aught  I  know  you  were  born  here." 

Magdalen  had  been  a  close  listener  to  the  conversation  be 
tween  the  aunt  and  nephew,  and  gathered  from  it  that  her 
destination  was  the  country,  and  she  was  not  to  live  in  the 
noisy  city,  which  would  seem  so  dreary  to  her  from  contrast 
with  the  gayeties  of  last  winter,  when  she  was  there  under  very 
dilferent  auspices.  She  had  no  desire  to  see  Broadway,  or  the 
Park,  or  the  pictures.  She  had  seen  them  all,  with  Roger  as 
her  escort,  and  they  would  look  so  differently  now.  So  to  Mr. 
Seymour's  suggestion  that  she  was  possibly  born  in  New  York, 
she  replied  : 

"  I  was  here  last  winter,  and  saw,  I  think,  all  there,  (s  worth 


MRS.   PENELOPE  SEYMOUR.  259 

seeing.     I  would  rather  go  at  once  to  '  the  rocks  and  hills  and 
running  rills.'     I  feel  most  at  home  with  nature." 

She  flashed  a  bright  smile  on  Guy,  who  felt  his  blood  tingle  a 
little,  while  his  aunt  thought,  "  I  knew  her  clothes  were  made  in 
New  York ; "  then  to  Magdalen  she  said,  "  I  have  many  ac 
quaintances  in  the  city.  Possibly  you  may  have  met  some  ol 
them,  if  you  were  in  society." 

She  laid  great  stress  upon  the  last  two  words,  and  Magdalen 
colored,  while  Guy,  who  saw  his  aunt's  drift,  said  laughingly, 
"  Don't  pray  drive  Miss  Lennox  into  telling  whether  she  was  a 
belle  or  a  student,  copying  some  picture,  or  perfecting  herself 
in  music.  You'll  be  asking  next  if  she  knew  the  Dagons  and 
Draggons,  whom  not  to  know  is  to  be  nobody  indeed." 

He  spoke  sarcastically  now,  and  Magdalen's  face  was  scarlet, 
though  she  could  not  help  laughing  at  his  allusion  to  the  "  Da 
gons  and  Draggons  "  whom  she  had  met,  and  so  was  not  lack 
ing  in  that  accomplishment.  She  knew  it  was  very  natural  that 
Mrs.  Seymour  should  wish  to  know  something  of  her  antece 
dents,  and  she  said,  "  I  was  not  here  to  copy  pictures.  I 
came  with  friends,  and  saw,  I  suppose,  what  is  called  society ; 
at  least  I  met  the  Dagons  and  Draggons,  if  that  is  any  proof. 
I  was  chaperoned  by  Mrs.  Walter  Irving,  of  whom  you  may 
have  heard." 

"Mrs.  Walter  Scott  Irving,  of  Lexington  avenue,"  Mrs.  Sey 
mour  exclaimed ;  "  I  have  heard  of  her.  Are  you  a  relative  of 
hers  ?  " 

"No,  madam,  not  a  relative.  I  was  adopted  by  her  hus 
band's  half  brother,  Mr.  Roger  Irving,  when  I  was  a  very  Httle 
child.  He  was  as  kind  to  me  as  if  I  had  been  his  sister.  I 
have  always  lived  at  Millbank,  and  always  intended  to  live 
there  until  circumstances  occurred  which  made  it  desirable  for 
me  to  seek  a  home  elsewhere  and  earn  my  own  livelihood. 
There  was  found  a  later  will  than  the  one  proven  at  the  time 
of  Squire  Irving' s  death,  and  by  virtue  of  that  will  Mr.  Roger's 
nephew,  Frank,  came  into  possession  of  the  estate,  and  Rogei 
went  away,  while  I  preferred  not  to  be  dependent." 


260  MRS.   PENELOPE  SEYMOUR. 

She  had  told  all  of  her  history  which  it  was  necessary  to  tell, 
and  after  a  little  more  conversation  she  bade  her  new  acquaint 
ance  good-night  and  retired  to  her  room. 

"  Well,  Guy,  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  "  Mrs.  Seymour  said, 
coming  to  her  nephew's  side. 

"  I  think  she's  splendid,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  who  the  deuce  is 
it  she  looks  like  ?  She  has  evidently  been  as  delicately  brought 
up  as  Alice  herself.  It's  the  finding  of  that  will  which  has 
turned  her  adrift  upon  the  world,  no  doubt,  and  I  pity  her,  for 
she  is  every  inch  a  lady ;  and,  Aunt  Pen,  don't  for  gracious, 
sake  put  on  airs  with  her,  as  if  you  were  the  great  Mogul,  and 
she  some  Liliputian.  Remember  from  what  a  height  she  has 
fallen  !  Think  of  her  knowing  the  Dagons  and  Draggons  !  " 

He  was  teazing  her  now,  but  however  much  of  a  scapegrace 
she  might  think  him  to  be,  Auntie  Pen  was  pretty  sure  to  con 
sider  and  follow  his  advice,  and  the  next  morning  she  was  very 
polite  to  Magdalen,  and  offered  of  her  own  accord  to  stay  an 
other  day  in  New  York  if  she  liked,  saying  Guy  should  drive 
them  to  the  Park,  or  wherever  she  wished  to  go.  But  Magdalen 
longed  to  be  out  of  the  city,  and  an  hour  or  two  after  breakfast 
the  carriage  came  round  to  take  them  to  the  train. 

Mrs.  Seymour  had  not  been  very  communicative  with  regard 
to  Beechwood,  the  place  to  which  they  were  going.  She  had 
said  merely  that  it  was  on  the  Hudson.  That  it  was  her  niece 
who  was  the  invalid  ;  that  they  had  been  some  years  abroad ; 
that  the  house  was  very  pleasant ;  that  for  certain  reasons  they 
saw  but  little  company ;  and  then  had  asked  abruptly  if  Miss 
Lennox  was  nervous.  Guy,  who  was  not  to  accompany  them, 
had  asked  the  same  question  in  connection  with  something  he 
was  saying  of  Beechwood,  but  Magdalen  did  not  heed  the  ques 
tion  then,  or  attach  to  it  any  importance.  She  was  very  anxious 
to  be  off,  and  was  glad  when,  at  last,  the  car  began  to  move, 
and  she  knew  she  was  leaving  New  York. 

It  was  a  warm,  still  day  in  early  October,  and  Magdalen  en 
joyed  the  ride  along  the  beautiful  river,  and  was  sorry  when  at 
last  it  came  to  an  end,  and  she  was  left  standing  on  the  same 


MRS.    PENELOPE  SEYMOUR.  261 

platform  where,  years  before,  another  young  girl  had  stood 
looking  about  her,  half  sadly,  half  regretfully,  and  wishing  her- 
self  away.  It  was  a  different  carriage  now  which  was  waiting 
for  the  travellers,  —  a  new,  stylish  carriage,  drawn  by  two 
beautiful  horses,  which  would  have  driven  Frank  Irving  wild, 
and  John,  the  coachman,  in  high-crowned  hat  and  white 
gloves,  was  very  deferential  to  Mrs.  Seymour,  and  touched  his 
hat  to  Magdalen,  and  saw  them  both  into  the  carriage,  and 
then,  closing  the  door,  mounted  to  his  seat,  and  started  up  the 
mountain  road^  over  which  Alice  Grey  had  ridden  many  a 
time,  for  it  was  to  her  that  Magdalen  was  going.  She  knew  it 
at  last,  for  as  they  rode  up  the  mountain  side  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Seymour  : 

"  I  do  not  think  you  have  told  me  the  name  of  your  niece.  I 
have  heard  you  call  her  Alice,  and  that  is  all  I  know  of  her." 

"  Surely,  you  must  excuse  me,"  Mrs.  Seymour  replied  ;  "  I 
thought  I  had  told  you  that  her  name  was  Alice  Grey.  You 
may  have  heard  of  her  from  Mr.  Irving.  We  met  him  abroad, 
and  again  in  New  York." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  of  her,"  Magdalen  replied,  her  face 
flushing,  and  her  heart  beating  rapidly  as  she  thought  of  the 
strange  Providence  which  was  leading  her  to  one  of  whom  she 
had  heard  so  much,  and  of  whom  when  a  little  girl  she  had  been 
so  jealous. 

"  Hers  is  a  most  lovely  character,  and  you  are  sure  to  like 
her,"  Mrs.  Seymour  continued.  "  She  has  been  sorely  tried. 
We  are  all  sorely  tried.  You  told  me,  I  think,  that  you  were 
not  nervous  ?  " 

This  was  the  second  time  she  had  put  the  question  to  Magda 
len,  who  was  not  now  quite  so  certain  of  her  nerves  as  she  had 
been  when  the  question  was  asked  her  before  ;  but  Mrs.  Sey 
mour  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  for  just  then  they  came  in 
sight  of  the  house,  which  she  pointed  out  to  Magdalen,  who 
thought  of  Millbank  as  she  rode  through  the  handsome  grounds 
and  caught  glimpses  of  the  river  in  the  distance.  The  carriage 
stopped  at  last  at  a  side  door,  and  conducting  Magdalen  into  a 


262  ALICE  AND  MAGDALEN. 

little  reception-room  Mrs.  Seymour  asked  the  servant  who  met 
them,  "  where  Miss  Grey  was  ?  " 

Magdalen  could  not  hear  the  answer,  it  was  so  low  ;  but  shd 
saw  a  cloud  on  Mrs.  Seymour's  brow  and  divined  that  some 
thing  was  wrong. 

"  Show  Miss  Lennox  to  her  room,  the  one  next  to  my 
niece's,"  the  lady  said,  and  Magdalen  followed  the  girl  to  a 
large  upper  room  the  windows  of  which  looked  out  upon  the 
river  and  the  country  beyond. 

It  was  very  pleasant  there,  and  Magdalen  threw  off  her  hat 
and  shawl  and  was  just  seating  herself  by  the  window  for  a  bet 
ter  view  of  the  charming  prospect,  when  there  came  a  gentle 
knock  at  her  door,  and  a  sweet  musical  voice  said  softly, 
"  Please,  may  I  come  in  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

ALICE   AND    MAGDALEN. 

IA.GDALEN  gave  one  anxious  glance  at  herself  in  the 
mirror  as  she  sprang  up,  and  then  hastened  to  unbolt 
the  door  and  admit  Alice  Grey.  She  knew  it  was 
Alice,  though  she  had  never  imagined  her  one  half  so  beautiful 
as  she  seemed  now  in  her  white  dress,  with  her  chestnut  hair 
falling  in  soft  curls  about  her  face  and  neck,  and  her  great 
dreamy  blue  eyes,  which  had  something  so  pitiful  and  pleading 
in  their  expression.  She  was  very  slight  and  not  as  tall  as 
Magdalen,  who  felt  herself  a  great  deal  larger  and  older  than 
the  little,  pale-faced  girl,  whose  white  cheeks  had  in  them  just 
the  faintest  coloring  of  pink  as  she  held  out  her  hand  and  said, 
"  You  are  Miss  Lennox,  I  know.  Auntie  wanted  me  to  wait 
till  she  could  introduce  me,  or  till  you  came  down  to  dinner, 
but  I  was  anxious  to  see  somebody  young  and  new,  and  fresh. 
I  go  out  so  little  that  I  get  tired  of  the  faces  seen  every  day." 


ALICE  AND  MAGDALEN".  26? 

"  Perhaps  you  will  get  tired  of  mine,"  Magdalen  suggested, 
laughingly. 

"  Perhaps  I  may,  but  it  will  be  a  long  time  first,"  Alice  re 
plied,  leading  Magdalen  to  the  window  where  she  could  see  hei 
more  distinctly. 

There  was  an  expression  of  surprise  or  wonder,  or  both,  in 
her  face  now,  as  she  said,  "  Where  have  I  met  you  before,  Miss 
Lennox  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  we  have  ever  met  before ;  at  least  not  to 
my  knowledge,"  Magdalen  replied,  while  Alice  continued  : 

"  I  must  have  seen  you  or  somebody  like  you.  I  can't  be 
mistaken  in  those  eyes.  Why,  they  are  like  — " 

Alice  stopped  suddenly,  and  the  color  all  faded  from  her 
cheeks  and  lips,  while  Magdalen  looked  curiously  at  her. 

"  You've  never  been  abroad?  "  Alice  asked,  after  a  moment, 
during  which  she  had  studied  Magdalen  closely. 

"  Never,"  was  the  reply,  and  Alice  continued  : 

"  And  I  have  been  away  seven  years,  and  so  it  cannot  be  ; 
but  you  do  not  seem  a  stranger,  and  I  am  so  glad.  I  opposed 
your  coming  at  first,  —  that  is,  I  was  opposed  to  having  any  one 
come  just  to  entertain  me,  and  when  auntie  wrote  from  New 
York  that  she  had  engaged  a  Miss  Lennox,  I  saw  you  directly, 
some  tall,  lank,  ugly  woman,  who  wore  glasses  and  would  bore 
me  terribly. 

"  Do  I  come  up  to  your  ideal,"  Magdalen  asked,  her  heart 
warming  more  and  more  toward  the  young  girl,  who  replied  : 

"You  are  seeking  for  a  compliment,  for  of  course  you  know 
just  how  beautiful  and  brilliant  and  sparkling  you  are;  only 
that  sudden  turn  of  your  head  and  flash  of  your  eyes  does 
bother* me  so.  And  you  are  young,  too.  As  young  as  I  am, 
I  guess.  I  am  twenty-one." 

"  And  I  am  nineteen,"  Magdalen  rejoined,  while  Alice  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Only  nineteen  !  That  is  young  to  be  doing  for  one's  self ; 
young  to  come  here,  to  care  for  me,  in  this  house." 

She  seemed  to  be  talking  in  an  absent  kind  of  way,  and  her 


264  ALICE  AND  MAGDALEN. 

eyes,  which  were  looking  far  off  across  the  river,  had  in  them 
a  sad,  sorry  expression,  as  if  to  care  for  her,  in  that  house,  was 
a  lot  not  to  be  envied.  Turning  suddenly  to  Magdalen,  she 
asked  :  "  Are  you  nervous,  Miss  Lennox?  " 

That  was  the  fourth  time  this  question  had  been  put  to  Mag 
dalen,  who  laughed  a  little  hysterically  as  she  replied  : 

"  I  never  supposed  I  was,  but  fear  I  shall  be  if  questioned 
again  upon  the  subject.  Your  aunt  asked  me  twice  if  I  was 
nervous,  and  Mr.  Guy  Seymour  once." 

As  she  said  the  last  name,  Alice  colored  a  little,  but  she 
merely  answered : 

"You  saw  cousin  Guy  in  New  York  ;  auntie's  husband  was 
his  uncle,  but  I  call  him  cousin  just  the  same.  Did  he  say 
when  he  was  coming  to  Beechwood  ?  " 

"At  Christmas,  I  believe,"  Magdalen  replied,  wondering  that 
Alice  paid  no  heed  to  what  she  had  said  of  her  nervousness. 

She  was  standing  with  her  hands  clasped,  and  the  same 
expression  in  her  eyes  which  Magdalen  had  observed  before. 
She  was  evidently  thinking  of  something  foreign  to  Guy  Sey 
mour,  or  nervousness,  and  she  stood  thus  until  Magdalen  heard 
in  the  hall  outside  the  opening  of  a  door,  and  caught  the  faint 
est  possible  sound  like  a  human  cry.  She  might  not  have  no 
ticed  it  at  all  but  for  the  effect  it  had  on  Alice,  who  started 
suddenly  from  her  dreamy  attitude,  and  said  : 

"  I  must  go  now,  Miss  Lennox.  I  shall  see  you  at  dinner, 
which  will  be  served  in  an  hour.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come 
to  me.  I  feel  stronger  with  you  already,  —  feel  as  if  you  would 
do  me  good,  —  do  us  all  good,  perhaps.  Au  revoir,  till  dinner 
time." 

She  flitted  from  the  room,  and  Magdalen  heard  again  the 
quick  closing  of  a  door  down  the  hall.  Then  all  \vas  still,  and 
the  house  was  as  silent  as  if  she  were  its  only  occupant.  It 
had  not  occurred  to  her  that  there  was  any  mystery  at  Beech- 
\vood,  any  grief  or  shame  which  the  family  tried  to  cover  up, 
but  the  moment  Alice  was  gone  she  felt  a  weight  settling  down 
upon  her,  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and  desolation,  which  she 


MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN.  26$ 

called  homesickness,  and  burying  her  face  among  the  pillows  of 
the  tempting-looking  bed,  she  wept  bitterly  for  a  few  moments. 
Then,  remembering  dinner,  she  dried  her  eyes  and  commenced 
unpacking  her  trunks,  which  had  been  sent  up  while  Alice  was 
with  her. 

"  I  shall  not  be  expected  to  dress  much.  This  will  do  veiy 
nicely,"  she  thought,  as  she  shook  out  the  folds  of  a  heavy  black 
silk,  made  the  winter  before  by  Mrs.  living's  dressmaker. 

It  was  trimmed  with  the  softest,  daintiest  lace,  for  everything 
pertaining  to  her  wardrobe  had  been  perfect,  and  she  looked  fit 
to  grace  any  assemblage  when  at  last  Alice  came  to  take 
her  down  to  the  parlor,  where  Arthur  Grey  was  waiting  for 
them. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

MR.  GREY  AND  MAGDALEN. 

JR.  GREY  had  heard  from  his  sister  that  Magdalen  came 
from  Millbank,  where  she  had  lived  in  the  Irving  family 
until  the  finding  of  the  will,  and  for  a  few  moments  he 
had  felt  as  if  he  could  not  have  her  there  at  Beechwood,  recall 
ing  by  her  presence  what  he  would  so  gladly  have  forgotten. 
Why  was  it  that  the  Irvings,  or  some  one  connected  with  them, 
were  always  crossing  his  path.  Surely  he  had  been  sufficiently 
punished  for  poor  Jessie's  death.  His  most  implacable  enemy 
could  have  asked  no  greater  sorrow  for  him  than  he  had  expe 
rienced  for  years,  save  at  times  when  in  foreign  scenes  he  for 
got  in  part  the  horror  and  the  burden  which  since  his  return  to 
America  had  pressed  heavier  than  before. 

"  The  girl  is  a  lady  and  very  handsome  too,  though  of  a  far 
different  style  from  Alice.     I  hope   you  will  try  to  like  her, 

12 


266  MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN. 

Arthur,"  his  sister  had  said  to  him,  as  she  saw  a  shadow  on  his 
face  and  felt  that  in  some  way  he  was  displeased. 

"  Of  course  I  xan  have  nothing  against  the  girl,"  Mr.  Grey 
replied,  "  though  there  are  reasons  why  any  thing  connected 
with  the  Irvings  should  be  distasteful  to  me,  and  I  would 
rather  Miss  Lennox  had  come  from  some  other  family." 

He  left  his  sister  then,  and  went  to  his  own  room,  where  on 
the  wall  was  still  hanging  that  little  pencil  sketch  of  the  grave 
yard  in  Belvidere,  and  the  barefoot  girl  standing  in  the  grass 
with  the  basket  of  flowers  on  her  arm.  That  Miss  Lennox  was 
the  original  of  that  picture,  Mr.  Grey  did  not  doubt.  She  had 
told  him  that  her  name  was  Magdalen,  and  that  she  had  always 
lived  at  Millbank,  so  there  could  be  no  mistake.  He  had 
scarcely  thought  of  that  incident  for  years,  but  it  came  back  to 
him  now  and  struck  him  as  very  strange  that  this  same  barefoot 
girl  should  have  come  there  as  companion  to  his  daughter. 

"  Should  she  ever  enter  this  room,  and  there's  no  knowing 
where  Alice  may  take  her,  she  will  see  this  picture  and  recog 
nize  it  at  once,  and  wonder  where  I  found  it  and  possibly  rec 
ognize  me  as  the  stranger  who  talked  with  her  in  the  graveyard. 
It  is  better  out  of  sight,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  drawing  from 
the  wall  and  laid  it  away  in  the  drawer  where  the  lock  of  golden 
hair  was,  and  the  faded  bouquet  which  the  "  wretch  of  a  Jim 
Bartlett"  once  had  the  credit  of  stealing.  And  all  this  time  the 
man  trod  softly,  as  if  fearful  of  being  heard  and  called  for,  and 
he  looked  often  toward  the  door  which  opened  into  the  adjoin 
ing  room.  But  everything  was  still ;  the  Burden  was  sleeping 
at  last,  lulled  into  quiet  by  the  sweet  music  of  "  Allie's"  voice 
and  the  touch  of  "Allie's"  hands. 

Having  put  the  picture  away,  Mr.  Grey  made  himself  ready 
for  dinner,  and  then  going  down  to  the  parlor,  he  stood  before  the 
grate,  waiting  for  his  daughter  and  Miss  Lennox.  The  door 
was  open  into  the  hall,  and  he  saw  them  as  they  came,  with 
their  arms  interlaced,  and  Magdalen's  head  bent  towards  Alice, 
who  was  smiling  up  at  her. 

"  Strong  friendship  at  once,"  he  thought,  feeling  for  a  mo- 


MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN.  267 

nif  nt  vexed  that  his  high-bred  daughter,  should  so  soon  have 
fallen  in  love  with  her  hired  companion. 

But  this  emotion  of  pride  passed  away  forever  with  Mr. 
Grey's  first  full  inspection  of  Magdalen  Lennox,  whose  brilliant 
beauty  startled  and  surprised  him,  and  whose  bright,  restless 
eyes  confounded  and  bewildered  him,  carrying  him  back  to  the 
Schodick  hills,  and  the  orchard  where  the  apple  blossoms  were 
growing.  But  not  there  could  he  find  the  solution  of  the 
strange  feeling  which  swept  over  him  and  kept  him  silent,  even 
after  Alice  had  introduced  her  friend. 

"  Miss  Lennox,  father,"  Alice  said,  a  second  time,  and  then 
he  came  to  himself,  and  said,  "  Excuseme,  MissLennox,  some 
thing  about  you,  as  you  came  in,  sent  me  off  into  the  fields  of 
memory,  in  quest  of  some  one  who  must  have  been  like  you. 
You  are  very  welcome  to  Beechwood,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
here." 

With  a  courtly  grace  he  offered  her  his  arm,  and  led  her  to 
the  dining  room,  followed  by  Alice  and  his  sister,  both  of  whom 
were  delighted  to  see  him  take  so  kindly  to  a  stranger. 

To  Mrs.  Seymour  it  showed  an  acknowledgment  on  his 
part  of  her  good  taste  and  judgment  in  selecting  so  fitting  a 
person  for  Alice's  companion,  and  a  willingness  to  follow  her 
advice,  and  make  the  best  of  it,  even  if  Miss  Lennox  was  con 
nected  with  the  Irvings.  She  knew  something  of  Jessie's  story. 
She  saw  her  once  in  Schodick,  and  she  had  done  what  she 
could  to  separate  her  brother  from  her,  but  she  did  not  know 
of  the  tragic  ending,  and  she  gave  no  thought  to  the  poor, 
drowned  woman,  who,  all  through  the  formal  dinner,  was  so 
constantly  in  Magdalen's  mind.  She  had  at  once  identified 
Mr.  Grey  with  the  stranger  in  Belvidere,  though  he  seemed 
older  than  she  had  thought  him  then.  Still,  there  was 
no  mistaking  him,  and  when  his  sister  casually  addressed 
him  as  "Arthur,"  it  came  over  her,  with  a  great  shock, 
that  this  man  was  none  other  than  the  "Arthur  Grey" 
who  had  been  poor  Jessie's  ruin,  and  whom  Roger  hated 
so  cordially.  There  could  be  no  mistake;  she  was  positive 


268  MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN. 

that  she  was  right  in  her  conclusions,  and  felt  for  a  moment  ai 
if  she  were  smothering.  What  strange  fatality  was  it  which  had 
brought  her  into  the  very  household  of  the  man  she  had  hated, 
for  Roger's  sake,  and  longed  to  see  that  she  might  tell  him  so. 
She  had  seen  him,  at  last !  he  was  there,  at  her  side,  speaking 
to  her  so  kindly,  and  making  her  feel  so  much  at  home,  that  she 
could  not  hate  him,  and  before  dinner  was  over  she  had 
ceased  to  wonder  at  Jessie's  infatuation,  or  to  blame  her  for  lis 
tening  to'  him.  He  was  very  polite  to  her,  but  seemed  to  be 
studying  her  face  as  intently  as  Alice  had  done  at  first,  and 
once,  when  she  poised  her  head  upon  one  side,  while  her  eyes 
Hashed  suddenly  upon  him,  and  then  were  quickly  withdrawn, 
the  blood  came  rushing  to  his  face  and  crept  up  under  his  hair, 
for  he  knew  now  of  whom  that  motion  reminded  him.  He  had 
thought  it  so  charming  once,  and  the  eyes  which  shone  upon 
him  as  Magdalen's  did  had  been  so  beautiful,  and  soft,  and 
liquid,  and  given  no  sign  of  the  fierce  wildness  with  which  they 
had  many  a  time  glared  on  him  since. 

"  It  is  only  a  resemblance,  but  I  would  rather  it  did  not  ex 
ist,"  he  thought,  as  he  met  that  look  again,  and  shivered  as  if 
he  was  cold. 

Dinner  being  over  they  returned  to  the  parlor,  where,  at 
Alice's  request,  Magdalen  seated  herself  at  the  piano.  Her 
home-sickness  was  passing  away,  and  she  no  longer  felt  that  a 
nightmare  was  oppressing  her,  but  rather  that  she  should  find  at 
Beechwood  peace  and  quiet  and  a  home,  and  she  sang  with 
her  whole  soul,  and  did  not  hear  the  sound  outside,  which 
caught  Alice's  attention  so  quickly,  and  took  her  from  the 
room.  She  knew,  however,  when  Alice  went  out,  and  a  mo 
ment  after  was  conscious  of  some  confusion  by  the  door,  and 
heard  Alice's  voice,  first  in  expostulation  and  entreaty,  then 
calling  hurriedly  for  her  father  to  come.  Then  Mr.  Grey  went 
out,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  was  left  alone  with  Magdalen,  who  fin 
ished  her  song  and  left  the  piano,  wondering  what  it  was  which 
had  taken  both  Mr.  Grey  and  Alice  so  suddenly  from  the  room, 
and  kept  them  away  for  half  an  hour  or  more.  Indeed,  Mr 


MR.    GRE^  AND  MAGDALEN.  269 

Grey  did  not  return  at  all,  and  when,  at  last,  Alice  came  back, 
she  was  very  white,  and  said  something  to  her  aunt,  which 
sounded  like,  "It  was  the  music,  which  affected  her,  I  think." 

Was  there  a  mystery  at  Beechwood,  Magdalen  thought ;  a 
something  hidden  from  view,  and  was  it  this  which  made  Alice 
look  so  sad  even  while  she  tried  to  smile,  and  appear  gay  and 
cheerful,  by  way  of  entertaining  her  new  friend  ? 

They  had  the  parlor  to  themselves  ere  long,  for  Mrs.  Sey 
mour  went  out,  and  then  Alice  took  her  seat  on  the  couch, 
where  Magdalen  was  sitting,  and  nestled  close  to  her,  as  a  child 
nestles  to  its  mother  when  it  is  tired  and  wants  to  be  soothed. 

Passing  her  arm  around  the  slender  waist,  Magdalen  drew 
the  curly  head  down  on  her  bosom,  and  gently  smoothed  the 
chestnut  hair,  and  passed  her  hand  caressingly  across  the  fore 
head,  where  the  blue  veins  showed  so  plainly. 

Magdalen  was  not  given  to  sudden  friendships,  and  she  could 
not  account  for  the  love  and  tenderness  she  felt  growing  so 
fast  within  her  for  this  young  girl,  who  lay  encircled  in  her  arms, 
and  who  she  knew  at  last  was  crying,  for  she  felt  the  hot  tears 
dropping  on  her  hand.  She  could  not  offer  sympathy  in  words, 
for  she  did  not  know  what  to  say,  but  she  stooped  and  kissed 
the  flushed  cheek  wet  with  tears.  Alice  understood  her,  and 
the  silent  crying  became  a  low,  piteous  sobbing,  which  told 
how  keenly  her  heart  was  wrung. 

"Pray  excuse  me,  for  giving  way  so  foolishly,"  Alice  said 
at  last,  as  she  lifted  up  her  head.  "I  was  ill  so  long  in 
Europe,  and  the  voyage  home  was  rough  and  stormy,  and  I 
kept  my  berth  the  entire  two  weeks  we  were  out  at  sea,  so  that 
by  the  time  New  York  was  reached  I  could  not  stand  alone. 
I  am  better  now ;  home  scenes  and  mountain  air  have  done  me 
good,  but — but  —  oh,  Miss  Lennox,  I  cannot  tell  you  now  of 
the  shadow  which  has  cast  a  gloom  over  my  whole  life.  Why, 
I  have  seen  the  time  when  my  beautiful  home  had  scarcely  a 
charm  for  me,  and  in  my  wickedness  I  accused  God  of  dealing 
too  harshly  with  me.  But  He  has  been  so  good  to  me,  who  'do 
not  deserve  kindness  from  Him.  When  I  knew  you  were 


2/O  MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN. 

coming  I  went  away  among  the  hills  and  prayed  that  I  migh* 
like  you,  —  that  your  presence  would  do  me  good,  —  and  I  am 
certain  the  prayer  was  answered.  I  do  like  you.  I  feel  a  firm 
conviction  that  in  some  way  you  are  destined  to  do  us  all  an 
untold  good.  You  do  not  seem  like  a  stranger,  but  rather  like 
a  familiar  friend,  or  I  should  not  be  talking  to  you  as  I  am. 
Have  you  sisters,  Miss  Lennox?" 

The  moment  which  Magdalen  dreaded  had  come,  when  she 
was  to  be  questioned  by  Alice  with  regard  to  her  family,  and 
she  resolved  to  be  perfectly  frank,  and  keep  nothing  back  which 
it  was  proper  for  her  to  tell. 

"  I  have  no  sisters  that  I  am  aware  of,"  she  said.  "  I  was 
adopted,  when  a  little  baby,  by  Mr.  Roger  Irving,  who  lived  at 
Millbank,  and  was  himself  a  boy  then.  The  circumstances  of 
my  adoption  were  very  peculiar,  and  such  as  precluded  the 
possibility  of  my  knowing  anything  of  my  family  friends,  if  I  had 
any.  I  have  never  known  a  sister's  love  or  a  brother's,  or  a 
father's  or  mother's,  though  I  have  been  as  kindly  and  tenderly 
cared  for  as  if  I  had  been  the  petted  child  of  fond  parents,  and 
only  an  adverse  turn  in  the  wheel  of  fortune  sent  me  from  the 
home  I  loved  so  much." 

She  paused  here,  and  Alice  rejoined,  "Mr.  Irving?  Mill- 
bank  ?  Why,  both  are  familiar  names  to  me,  and  have  been 
since  I  was  a  little  girl  at  school  in  New  Haven  and  knew  Mr. 
Franklin  Irving.  And_jw/, — why,  yes, — "and  Alice's  man 
ner  grew  more  and  more  excited,  "you  are  the  very  Magda 
len  Frank  used  to  tell  me  about  and  of  whom  I  was  sometimes 
jealous.  You  know  Frank,"  she  continued,  misconstruing  the 
expression  of  Magdalen's  face. 

"  Yes,  I  know  Frank,"  Magdalen  replied,  "  and  I,  too,  have 
heard  a  great  deal  of  you,  and  was  jealous  of  you  at  one  time, 
I  believe." 

"  You  had  no  cause,"  Alice  replied,  thinking  of  the  "  Piccola 
Sentinella,"  rather  than  of  New  Haven ;  "  I  liked  Mr.  Irving 
very  much  as  a  boy,  and  when  we  met  him  abroad  I  was  very 
glad  to  sse  him  and  rather  encouraged  his  visits  than  otherwise, 


MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN.  2/1 

but  father  disliked  him  thoroughly,  or  seemed  to,  and  treated  hiir 
so  cavalierly  that  I  wondered  he  could  come  to  us  at  all.  But 
he  did,  and  then  father  took  me  away,  and  I  saw  Mr.  Irving  no 
more  till  he  called  upon  me  in  New  York.  I  was  sick  then 
and  did  not  go  out,  but  I  heard  of  a  Miss  Lennox  who  was 
with  the  Irvings  and  said  to  be  very  beautiful,  and  that  was 
you." 

"  I  was  with  the  Irvings,"  Magdalen  replied,  and  Alice  contin 
ued  :  "I  fancied,  then,  that  Mr.  Irving  would  eventually  marry 
you  and  speculated  a  good  deal  upon  the  matter.  It  seems  so 
funny  that  you  are  here  I  I  do  not  understand  it  at  all,  or  why 
you  should  leave  Millbank.  Mr.  Frank  Irving  is  the  heir  now, 
is  he  not  ?  " 

Magdalen  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  thinking  it  better  to 
do  so,  told  briefly  of  her  life  at  Millbank  until  that  luckless  day 
when  she  discovered  the  will. 

"  After  that  Roger  went  to  Schodick,"  she  said,  "  and  I  —  I 
might  have  stayed  there,  but  I  did  not  like  Mrs.  Irving's  manner 
towards  me  when  she  became  the  mistress,  and  I  could  not  be 
dependent  upon  Frank,  and  so  I  came  away." 

Alice  knew  that  Magdalen  was  withholding  something  from 
her,  and  with  a  woman's  wit  guessed  that  it  concerned  Frank  ; 
but  she  would  not  question  her,  and  turned  the  conversation 
into  another  channel,  and  talked  of  the  books  she  had  read  and 
the  authors  she  liked  best. 

It  was  comparatively  early  when  Magdalen  went  up  to  her 
*oom,  a  door  of  which  communicated  with  Alice's.  This  the 
latter  desired  should  stand  open. 

"  I  like  to  feel  that  some  one  is  near  me  when  I  wake  in  the 
night,  as  I  often  do,"  Alice  said,  and  then  she  added,  "  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  leave  you  for  a  time,  but  do  you  go  straight  to 
bed.  I  know  you  must  be  tired.  I  shall  come  in  so  softly 
that  you  will  not  hear  me.  Good  night." 

She  kissed  Magdalen  and  then  went  from  the  room  and  down 
the  hall  toward  the  door,  which  Magdalen  had  heard  open  and 
shut  so  many  times.  Magdalen  was  very  tired,  and  was  soon 


2J  2  MR.    GREY  AND  MAGDALEN. 

sleeping  so  soundly  that  she  did  not  hear  Alice  when  she  came 
back,  but  she  dreamed  there  were  angels  with  her  clad  in  white, 
and  with  a  start  she  woke  to  find  the  moonlight  streaming  into 
her  chamber,  and  making  it  so  light  that  she  could  see  dis 
tinctly  the  young  girl  in  the  adjoining  room  was  kneeling 
by  the  bed,  her  hands  clasped  together  and  her  upturned 
face  bathed  in  the  silvery  light,  which  made  it  like  the  face  of 
an  angel.  She  was  praying  softly,  and  in  the  deep  stillness  of 
the  night  every  whisper  \vas  audible  to  Magdalen,  who  heard 
her  asking  Heaven  for  strength  to  bear  the  burden  patiently, 
and  never  to  get  tired  and  weary  and  wish  it  somewhere  else. 
Then  the  nature  of  the  prayer  changed,  and  Magdalen  knew 
that  Alice  was  thanking  Heaven  for  sending  her  to  Beechwood. 
"  And  if  anywhere  in  the  world  there  are  still  living  the  friends 
she  has  never  known,  oh,  Father,  let  her  find  them,  especially 
her  mother,  —  it  is  so  terrible  to  have  no  mother." 

That  was  what  Alice  said,  and  Magdalen's  tears  fell  like  rain 
to  hear  this  young  girl  pleading  for  her  as  she  had  never 
pleaded  for  herself.  She  had  prayed,  it  is  true.  She  always 
prayed  both  morning  and  at  night,  but  they  were  mere  formal 
prayers,  and  not  at  all  like  Alice's.  Hers  were  earnest,  hers 
were  heartfelt,  and  Magdalen  knew  that  she  was  speaking  to  a 
real,  living  presence ;  that  the  Saviour  to  whom  she  talked  was 
there  with  her  in  the  moonlit  room  as  really  as  if  she  saw  him 
bodily.  Alice's  was  a  living  faith,  which  brought  Heaven  down 
to  her  side,  and  Magdalen  felt  that  there  were  indeed  angels 
abiding  round  about  her,  and  that  Alice  was  one  of  them. 


LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD.  2/3 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LIFE   AT   BEECHWOOD. 

HE  next  morning  was  bright  and  beautiful,  as  morn 
ings   in   early  October  often  are,  when  the  summer 
IsSSkil  seems  to  linger  amid  flower  and  shrub,  as  if  loth  to 
quit  the  glories  its  own  sunshine  and  showers  had  created. 

The  mist  still  lay  in  soft  clouds  upon  the  river  and  on  the 
mountain  sides,  when  Magdalen  arose,  and,  leaning  from  her 
window,  drank  in  the  bracing  morning  air,  and  acknowledged 
to  herself  that  Beechwood  was  almost  as  beautiful  as  Millbank. 
She  had  slept  quietly,  and  felt  her  old  life  and  vigor  coming 
'back  to  her  again  as  she  hastened  to  dress  herself. 

She  had  heard  no  sound  as  yet,  except  the  tread  of  a  servant 
in  the  yard,  and  the  baying  of  the  Newfoundland  dog  up  the 
mountain  path. 

Alice  was  not  in  her  own  room.  She  must  have  dressed 
and  gone  out  before  Magdalen  awoke,  and  the  latter  was  hesi 
tating  whether  to  go  down  to  the  parlor,  or  to  remain  where 
she  was,  when  Alice  appeared,  her  blue  eyes  shining  brightly, 
and  a  faint  flush  upon  her  cheek. 

"  I  slept  so  well  because  you  were  here  near  me,"  she  said 
as  she  linked  her  arm  in  Magdalen's,  and  started  for  the  dining- 
room. 

As  they  passed  through  the  hall,  Magdalen  noticed  at  the 
farther  extremity  a  green  baize  door,  which  seemed  to  divide 
that  part  of  the  hall  from  the  other,  and  which  she  knew  by  the 
location  was  the  door  which  she  had  heard  shut  so  many 
times.  Where  did  it  lead  to  ?  What  was  there  behind  it  ? 
What  embodiment  of  sorrow  and  pain  was  hidden  away  in  that 
portion  of  the  building  ?  That  there  was  somebody  there,  Mag 
dalen  was  sure ;  for,  just  as  she  reached  the  head  of  the 
stairs  she  saw  a  servant  girl  coming  up  a  side  staircase,  bear- 


2/4  LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

ing  in  her  arms  a  silver  tray,  on  which  was  arranged  a  tempt 
ing  breakfast  for  an  invalid. 

"I  shall  know  all  in  good  time,"  she  thought,  and  she 
pretended  not  to  see  the  girl,  and  kept  on  talking  to  Alice 
until  the  dining-room  was  reached,  where  Mr.  Grey  and 
his  sister  were  waiting  for  them.  Both  seemed  in  unusually 
good  spirits,  and  Mr.  Grey  kissed  his  daughter  fondly  as  she 
nestled  close  to  him  and  smiled  up  into  his  face  with  all  the 
love  of  a  trusting,  affectionate  daughter.  The  sight  for  a  mo 
ment  smote  Magdalen  with  a  keen  sense  of  desolation  and 
loneliness.  Never  had  she  known,  —  never  could  know  the 
happiness  of  a  father's  watchful  love  and  care,  and  never  had 
she  felt  its  loss  as  keenly  as  she  felt  it  now,  when  she  saw  the 
caressing  tenderness  which  Mr.  Grey  bestowed  upon  his 
daughter  and  the  eagerness  with  which  it  was  returned.  They 
were  both  very  kind  to  her,  and  treated  her  more  like  a  guest 
than  one  who  had  come  to  them  as  a  hired  companion. 

It  was  a  delightful  day  for  driving ;  and  after  breakfast  was 
over,  Alice  asked  for  the  carriage  and  took  Magdalen  to  all  her 
favorite  resorts,  down  by  the  river  and  up  among  the  hills, 
where  she  said  she  often  went  and  sat  for  hours  alone.  They 
were  firmer  friends  than  ever  before  that  drive  was  over,  and 
Alice  had  dropped  "Miss  Lennox"  for  the  more  familiar 
"Magdalen,"  and  had  asked  that  she  should  be  simply  "Alice," 
and  not  that  formal  "  Miss  Grey." 

That  afternoon  Magdalen  wrote  a  short  letter  to  Hester 
Floyd,  telling  her  where  she  was,  explaining  how  she  chanced 
to  be  there,  and  going  into  ecstasies  over  the  loveliness  and 
beauty  of  Alice  Grey,  but  never  hinting  at  Mr.  Grey's  identity 
with  the  man  who  had  tempted  Jessie  to  sin.  It  was  as  well  to 
keep  that  to  herself,  she  thought,  inasmuch  as  the  telling  it 
would  only  awaken  bitter  memories  in  Rogers  heart.  Once 
she  determined  not  to  speak  of  Roger  at'  all,  but  that  would  be 
too  marked  a  neglect,  and  so  she  asked  to  be  remembered  to 
him,  and  said  she  should  never  forget  his  kindness  to  her,  or 
cease  to  regret  the  meddlesome  curiosity  which  had  resulted  so 


LIFE    AT  BEECHWOOD.  2?$ 

disastrously  for  him.  She  made  no  mention  of  either  Mrs 
Walter  Scott  or  Frank.  She  merely  said  she  left  Millbank  at  such 
a  time,  and  expressed  herself  as  glad  to  get  away,  it  seemed 
so  changed  from  the  happy  home  it  used  to  be  in  other  days. 

"Mrs.  Hester  Floyd.  Care  of  Roger  Irving,  Esq.,  Scho- 
dick,  N.  H.,"  was  the  direction  of  the  letter  which  Magdalen 
gave  to  Mr.  Grey,  who  was  going  to  the  post-office  and  offered 
to  take  it  for  her.  Very  narrowly  she  watched  him  as  he 
glanced  at  the  superscription,  and  she  half  pitied  him  when  she 
saw  his  lips  quiver  and  turn  pale  for  a  moment  as  he  read  the 
name  of  a  place  which  he  remembered  so  well.  Once  in  his 
life  he  had  sent  letters  to  that  very  town,  and  the  Schodick 
post-mark  was  not  an  unfamiliar  one  to  him.  Now  she  to 
whom  he  had  written  was  dead,  and  he  held  a  letter  directed 
to  the  care  of  her  son.  How  he  longed  to  ask  something  con 
cerning  him,  and  finally  he  did  so,  saying  in  a  half  indifferent 
tone,  "  Schodick  ?  —  I  once  spent  a  summer  there,  and  I  have 
heard  of  Mr.  Irving.  Does  he  live  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  he  lives  at  his  mother's  old  home.  They  call  it 
the  Morton  farm.  Did  you  know  his  mother,  Jessie  Mor 
ton  ?  " 

Magdalen  put  the  question  purposely,  but  regretted  it  when 
she  saw  the  look  of  intense  pain  which  flitted  across  Mr.  Grey's 
face. 

"  I  knew  her,  yes.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  I 
ever  saw,"  he  replied,  and  then  he  turned  away  and  walked 
slowly  from  the  room  with  his  head  bent  down,  as  if  his  thoughts 
were  busy  with  the  past. 

The  days  succeeding  that  first  one  at  Beechwood  went  rap- 
Idly  by,  and  each  one  found  Magdalen  happier  and  more  con 
tented  with  her  situation  as  companion  of  Alice,  who  strove  in 
so  many  ways  to  make  her  feel  that  she  was  in  all  respects  her 
equal,  instead  of  a  person  hired  to  minister  to  her.  Indeed, 
the  hired  part  seemed  only  nominal,  for  nothing  was  ever  re 
quired  of  Magdalen  which  would  not  have  been  required  of  her 
had  she  been  a  daughter  of  the  house  and  Alice  her  invalid 


2/6  LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

sister.  They  rode  together,  and  walked  together,  and  read  to 
gether,  and  slept  together  at  last,  for  Alice  would  have  it  so, 
and  every  morning  of  her  life  Magdalen  was  awakened  by  the 
soft  touch  of  Alice's  hand  upon  her  cheek,  and  the  kiss  upon 
her  brow. 

To  Magdalen  this  was  a  new  and  blissful  experience.  At 
Millbank  she  had  always  been  alone,  so  far  as  girls  of  her  own 
age  were  concerned,  and  Alice  Grey  seemed  to  her  the  em 
bodiment  of  all  that  was  pure  and  beautiful,  and  she  loved  her 
with  a  devotion  that  sometimes  startled  herself  with  its  intense- 
ness.  The  mystery,  if  there  was  one,  was  very  quiet  now,  and 
though  Alice  went  often  down  the  hall  and  through  the  green 
baize  door,  she  never  looked  as  sad  and  tired  when  she  came 
back  as  she  had  done  on  that  first  day  at  Beechwood.  Mr. 
Grey,  too,  frequently  passed  the  entire  evening  with  the  young 
girls  in  the  parlor,  where  Magdalen,  who  was  a  very  fine  reader, 
read  to  them  aloud  from  Alice's  favorite  authors.  But  after  the 
first  night  she  was  never  asked  to  sing.  Alice  often  requested 
her  to  play,  and  they  had  learned  a  few  duets  which  they  prac 
tised  together,  but  songs  were  never  mentioned,  and  Magdalen 
would  have  fancied  that  there  was  something  disagreeable  in 
her  voice  were  it  not  that  when  alone  with  Alice  among  the 
hills  and  down  by  the  river,  whither  they  often  went,  her  com 
panion  always  insisted  upon  her  singing,  and  would  sit  listening 
to  her  as  if  spell-bound  by  the  clear,  liquid  tones. 

At  last  there  came  a  letter  from  Hester  Floyd,  who,  in  her 
characteristic  way,  expressed  herself  as  pleased  that  Magdalen 
"  had  grit  enough  to  cut  loose  from  the  whole  coboodle  at 
Millbank,  and  go  to  do  for  herself.  I  was  some  taken  aback," 
she  wrote,  "  for  I  s'posed  by  the  tell  that  you  was  to  marry  that 
pimpin,  white-faced  Frank,  and  I  must  say  you  showed  your 
good  sense  by  quittin'  him,  and  doin'  for  yourself.  Me  and 
Roger  would  have  been  glad  for  you  to  come  here ;  that  is,  I 
Vlceve  Roger  would,  though  he  never  sed  no  thin'  particklar. 
He's  some  altered,  and  don't  talk  so  much,  nor  'pear  so  chip 
per  as  he  used  to  do,  and  I  mistrust  he  misses  you  more'n 


LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD.  2/7 

he  does  his  money.  He's  a  good  deal  looked  up  to,  both  in 
the  town  and  in  the  church,  where  they've  made  him  a  vestry 
man  in  place  of  a  man  who  died,  and  'twould  seem  as  if  he'd 
met  with  a  change,  though  he  allus  was  a  good  man,  with  no 
bad  habits  ;  but  he's  different  like  now,  and  don't  read  news 
papers  Sunday,  nor  let  me  get  up  an  extra  dinner,  and  he  has 
family  prayers,  which  is  all  well  enuff,  only  bakin'  mornins  if 
does  hender  some." 

Then  followed  a  description  of  the  house  and  Schodick  gen 
erally,  and  then  a  break  of  two  days  or  more,  after  which  the 
old  lady  resumed  her  pen,  and  added :  "  Roger's  got  a  letter 
from  Frank,  askin'  if  he  knew  where  you  was.  He  said  you 
left  while  he  was  away  unbeknownst  to  him,  and  had  never 
writ  a  word,  by  which  I  take  it  you  and  he  ain't  on  the  fust 
ratest  terms.  Roger  talked  the  most  that  day  that  he  has  in  a 
month,  and  actually  whistled,  but  then  he'd  just  gained  a  suit, 
and  so  mabby  it  was  that,  though  I  b'leeve  it  wouldn't  do  no 
harm  if  you  were  to  drop  him  a  line  in  a  friendly  way.  It's 
leap-year,  you  know." 

This  was  Hester's  letter,  over  which  Magdalen  pondered 
long,  wondering  if  the  old  lady  could  have  suspected  her  love 
for  Roger,  and  how  far  she  was  right  in  thinking  he  missed  her 
more  than  his  money.  Magdalen  read  that  sentence  many 
times,  and  her  heart  thrilled  with  delight  at  the  thought  of  be 
ing  missed  by  Roger;  but  from  Hester's  suggestion  that  she 
should  write  him  a  friendly  line,  she  turned  resolutely  away. 
The  time  was  gone  by  when  she  could  write  to  Roger  without 
his  having  first  written  to  her.  After  that  interview  in  the 
library,  when  his  kisses  had  burned  into  her  heart,  and  his  pas 
sionate  words,  "Magda,  my  darling,"  had  burned  into  her 
memory,  she  would  be  less  than  a  woman  to  make  the  first  ad 
vances.  Concessions,  if  there  were  any,  must  come  from  him 
now.  He  knew  how  sorry  she  was  about  the  will;  he  had 
exonerated  her  from  all  blame  in  that  matter,  and  now,  if  he 
had  any  stronger  feelings  for  her  than  that  of  a  friend,  he  must 
make  it  manifest  This  was  Magdalen's  reasoning  over  the 


278  LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD, 

Roger  portion  of  Hester's  letter,  and  then  she  thought  of 
Frank,  and  felt  a  nervous  dread  lest  he  might  follow  her,  though 
that  seemed  hardly  possible,  even  if  he  knew  where  she  was. 
Still  he  would  undoubtedly  write  as  soon  as  he  could  get  hei 
address  from  Roger,  and  she  was  not  at  all  disappointed  when, 
a  week  or  two  after  the  receipt  of  Hester's  letter,  Mr.  Grey 
brought  her  one  from  Belvidere,  directed  in  Frank's  well 
known  hand-writing.  After  obtaining  her  address  he  had 
written  at  once,  chiding  her  for  having  left  so  suddenly  without 
a  word  for  him,  and  begging  of  her  to  return,  or  at  least  allow 
him  to  come  for  her,  and  take  her  back  to  her  rightful  place  at 
Millbank. 

"  I  can't  imagine  what  freak  of  fortune  led  you  to  the  Greys," 
he  wrote.  "It  is  the  last  place  where  I  could  wish  you  to  be. 
Not  that  I  do  not  respect  and  esteem  Miss  Grey  as  the  sweet 
est,  loveliest  of  women,  but  I  distrust  both  her  father  and  her 
aunt.  For  some  reason  they  have  never  seemed  to  like  me, 
and  may  say  things  derogatory  of  me  ;  but  if  they  do,  I  trust  it 
will  make  no  difference  with  you,  for  remember  you  have 
known  me  all  your  lifetime." 

Magdalen  wrote  next  day  to  Frank,  who,  as  he  read  her  let 
ter,  began  for  the  first  time  to  feel  absolutely  that  she  was  lost 
to  him  forever.  He  was  sure  of  that,  and  for  a  moment  he 
wept  like  a  child,  thinking  how  gladly  he  would  give  up  all  his 
money  if  that  would  bring  him  Magdalen's  love.  But  it  was 
not  in  his  nature  to  be  unhappy  long,  and  he  soon  dried  his 
eyes  and  consoled  himself  with  a  drive  after  his  fast  bays,  and 
in  the  evening  when  his  mother  mentioned  to  him  the  names 
of  two  or  three  young  ladies  from  New  York  who  were  coming 
to  Millbank  for  the  holidays,  and  asked  if  there  was  any  one  in 
particular  whom  he  wished  to  invite,  he  mentioned  Miss  Bur- 
leigh,  whom  he  had  met  in  Springfield.  And  so  Bell  was  in 
vited,  and  hastened  to  reply  that  she  should  be  delighted  to 
come,  but  feared  she  could  not,  as  "  pa  never  liked  to  be  sep 
arated  from  his  family  at  that  time,  and  sister  Grace  would  bs 
home  from  school,  and  could  not,  of  course,  be  left  behind.' 


LIFE  AT  BEECHWOOD.  2jg 

She  was  so  sorry,  for  she  had  heard  such  glowing  accounts  of 
Millbank,  and  its  graceful  mistress,  that  she  ardently  desired  te 
see  and  know  both,  but  as  it  was  she  must  decline. 

As  might  be  supposed,  the  invitation  to  Miss  Bell  Burleigh 
was  repeated,  including  this  time  the  Judge  and  Grace,  both  ol 
whom  accepted,  Grace  for  the  entire  holidays,  and  the  Judge 
for  a  day  or  two,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  crowd.  And  so  Christ 
mas  bade  fair  to  be  kept  at  Millbank  with  more  hilarity  than 
ever  it  had  been  before.  Every  room  was  to  be  occupied,  Bell 
and  Grace  Burleigh  taking  Magdalen's,  for  which  Frank  ordered 
a  new  and  expensive  carpet  and  chamber  set,  just  as  he  had  or 
dered  new  furniture  for  many  of  the  other  rooms.  He  was  liv 
ing  on  a  grand  scale,  and  had  his  income  been  what  his  princi 
pal  was  he  could  scarcely  have  been  more  munificent  or  lavish 
of  his  money.  He  was  at  the  head  of  every  charitable  object  in 
Belvidere  and  Springfield,  and  gave  so  largely  that  his  name 
was  frequently  in  the  papers  which  he  sent  to  Magdalen,  with 
his  pencil  mark  about  the  flattering  notices  ;  and  Magdalen 
smiled  quietly  as  she  read  them  and  then  showed  them  to  Alice, 
who  once  laughingly  remarked,  "  Suppose  you  refer  him  to 
Matthew  vi.  2.  It  might  be  of  some  benefit  to  him."  And 
that  was  all  the  good  Frank's  ostentatious  charity  did  him  in 
that  direction. 

Meantime  the  tide  of  life  moved  on,  and  Christmas  came,  and 
the-  invited  guests  arrived  at  Millbank,  where  there  were  such 
revellings  and  dissipations  as  the  people  of  Belvidere  had  never 
seen,  and  where  Bell  Burleigh' s  bold,  black  eyes  flashed  and 
sparkled  and  took  in  everything,  and  saw  so  many  places  where 
a  change  would  be  desirable  should  Millbank  ever  have  another 
mistress  than  Mrs.  Walter  Scott. 

Guy  Seymour,  too,  had  his  holidays  at  Beechwood,  which 
seemed  a  different  place  with  his  great,  kind  heart,  his  quick 
appreciation  of  another's  wants,  his  unfailing  wit  and  humor, 
his  merry  whistle  and  exhilarating  laugh,  his  good-natured  teas 
ing  of  Auntie  Pen,  and  his  entire  devotion  to  Alice,  who  was 
rather  reserved  toward  him,  but  who  talked  a  great  deal  of  him 


280  THE  MYSTERY  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

to  Magdalen  when  they  were  alone,  and  cried  when  at  last  he 
went  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE    MYSTERY   AT   BEECHWOOD. 

DAY  or  two  after  Guy's  return  to  New  York  there 
came  to  Beechwood  a  tall,  muscular-looking  woman, 
whom  Alice  called  Mrs.  Jenks,  and  for  whom  Magda 
len  could  see  no  possible  use.  She  did  not  consort  with  the 
family,  nor  with  the  servants,  and  Magdalen  often  met  her  in 
the  upper  hall,  and  saw  her  disappearing  through  the  green 
baize  door.  It  was  about  this  time,  too,  that  Mr.  Grey  left 
home  for  Cincinnati,  and  the  household  settled  down  into  a 
state  of  quiet  and  loneliness,  which,  contrasting  as  it  did  with 
the  merry  holidays  when  Guy  Seymour  was  there,  seemed  to 
both  girls  very  hard  to  bear. 

Alice  was  unusually  restless,  and  when  at  last  Guy  wrote 
telling  of  a  famous  singer  who  had  just  appeared  in  New  York, 
and  asking  them  all  to  come  down  for  a  few  days  and  hear  for 
themselves,  she  caught  eagerly  at  it,  and  overruling  every  ob 
jection,  won  her  aunt's  consent  to  going.  Magdalen  was  to 
accompany  them,  and  she  was  anticipating  the  trip  and  what  it 
might  bring  about,  for  Hester  Floyd  had  written  that  Roger  was 
in  New  York.  But  when  the  morning  fixed  upon  for  their  jour 
ney  came  she  was  suffering  with  a  prevailing  influen/,a  which 
made  the  trip  impossible  for  her.  She,  however,  insisted  upon 
Alice's  going  without  her,  and  so  for  a  few  days  she  was  left 
alone  in  the  house  so  far  as  congenial  companionship  was  con 
cerned.  Mrs.  Jenks  she  never  saw,  though  she  knew  she  was 
there  ;  for  as  she  grew  better  and  able  to  be  about  the  parlors 
and  library  she  heard  the  servants  speak  of  the  amount  of  wine. 
she  ordered  with  her  dinner,  while  one  of  them  added  in  a  whis- 


THE  MYSTERY  AT  BEECHWOOD.  28) 

per,  "  Suppose  she  should  get  drunk  and  there  should  be  a  row, 
wouldn't  we  be  in  a  pretty  mess.  Nobody  could  contro. 
her." 

Magdalen  Avas  not  timid,  but  after  this  she  kept  her  dooi 
locked  at  night,  while  during  the  day  she  frequently  caught  her 
self  listening  intently  as  if  expecting  something  to  happen.  But 
nothing  did  happen  until  one  night  when  she  went  as  usual  to 
the  parlor,  where  she  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  tried  a  new 
piece  of  music  which  Guy  had  sent  to  Alice.  Finding  it  rather 
difficult,  she  cast  it  aside  and  dashed  off  something  more  famil 
iar  to  her.  On  the  music  stand  were  piles  and  piles  of  songs, 
some  her  own,  some  Alice's,  and  she  looked  them  over,  and  se 
lecting  one  which  had  always  been  her  favorite,  she  began  to 
sing,  feeling  much  as  an  imprisoned  bird  must  feel  when  it  finds 
itself  free  again,  for  since  her  first  night  at  Beechwood  she  had 
never  been  asked  to  sing  with  the  piano.  Now,  however,  she 
was  alone,  and  she  sang  on  and  on,  her  voice,  which  had  been 
out  of  practice  so  long,  gathering  strength  and  sweetness  until 
the  whole  house  was  full  of  the  clear,  liquid  tones,  and  the 
servants,  still  dawdling  over  their  supper,  commented  upon  the 
music  and  held  their  breath  to  listen.  One  of  them  had  brought 
a  lamp  into  the  room  before  going  to  her  tea,  and  this  with  the 
fire  in  the  grate  was  all  the  light  there  was ;  but  it  answered 
every  purpose  for  Magdalen,  who  enjoyed  the  dim  twilight  and 
the  flickering  shadows  on  the  wall,  and  kept  on  with  her  sing 
ing,  while  through  the  upper  hall  there  came  stealing  softly  the 
figure  of  a  woman  with  her  white  night -dress  trailing  on  the  car 
pet,  and  her  bare  feet  giving  back  no  echo  to  her  stealthy  foot 
steps.  She  had  come  through  the  green  baize  door,  and  she 
paused  there  a  moment  and  turned  her  ear  in  the  direction 
.vhence  she  had  come.  But  all  was  quiet.  There  was  no  one 
watching  her,  and  with  a  cunning  gleam  in  her  restless,  black 
eyes,  she  shut  the  door  softly,  then  opened  it  again,  and  went 
back  down  the  long  hall  until  she  reached  a  door  which  was 
partly  ajar.  This  she  also  shut,  and  turning  the  key  took  it  in 
her  hand  and  started  again  for  the  mi  sic  which  had  set  her 


282  THE  MYSTERY  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

poor  brain  to  throbbing,  and  quickened  the  blood  in  her  veins 
until  every  nerve  was  quivering  with  excitement. 

"  I  am  coming,  oh,  I'm  coming.  Don't  you  hear  me  as  1 
come  ?  "  sang  Magdalen,  while  down  the  stairs  and  through  the 
hall  came  the  unseen  visitor  until  she  reached  the  parlor  door, 
where  she  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  attitude  of  listening,  while 
her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Magdalen  with  a  curious,  inquiring  look. 

Then  they  rolled  restlessly  about  the  room,  and  took  in  every 
thing  from  the  picture  on  the  wall  to  the  fire  in  the  grate,  and 
then  went  back  again  to  the  young  girl,  still  singing  her  song  ot 
summer.  The  music  evidently  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  the 
poor,  crazed  creature,  and  her  eyes  were  soft  and  pleasant  and 
moist  with  tears  as  she  drew  near  to  Magdalen,  who  at  last  felt 
the  hot  breath  upon  her  neck,  and  knew  there  was  some  one 
behind  her.  There  was  a  violent  start,  then  a  sudden  crash 
among  the  keys,  as  Magdalen  felt  not  only  the  breath,  but  the 
touch  of  the  long,  white  fingers,  which  clasped  her  shoulder  so 
firmly.  She  could  see  the  fingers  as  they  held  to  her  dress,  but 
only  the  outline  of  a  human  form  was  visible,  and  so  she  did  not 
scream  until  she  turned  her  head  and  saw  the  white-robed 
woman,  with  the  long  hair  falling  down  her  back,  the  peculiar 
look  of  insanity  in  every  feature.  Then  a  shriek,  loud  and  un 
earthly,  rang  through  the  house,  followed  by  another  and  still 
another,  as  slie  felt  the  woman's  arm  twining  itself  around  hei 
neck,  and  heard  the  woman's  voice  saying  to  her,  "  What  are 
you,  angel  or  devil,  that  you  can  move  me  so  ?  " 

Roused  by  the  terrific  shrieks,  the  servants  came  rushing  to 
the  parlor,  where  they  found  Magdalen  fainted  entirely  away, 
with  the  maniac  bending  over  her  and  peering  into  her  face. 
When  Magdalen  came  to  herself,  she  was  in  her  own  room, 
and  the  girl,  Honora,  who  waited  on  her  in  the  absence  oi 
Pauline,  was  sitting  by  and  caring  for  her.  She  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  talk,  and  to  Magdalen's  inquiries,  "  Oh,  what  was 
it,  and  shall  I  see  it  again?"  she  merely  replied,  "You'll  not 
be  troubled  any  more.  It  was  the  fault  of  Mrs.  Jenks.  She 
drank  half  a  bottle  of  wine  since  noon  and  is  drunk  as  a  beast." 


THE  MYSTERY  AT  BEECHWOOD.  283 

That  was  all  the  explanation  Magdalen  could  get,  and  as  she 
recovered  rapidly  from  the  effects  of  her  fainting  fit,  she  signi 
fied  her  wish  to  be  left  alone  ;  but  she  did  not  venture  to  the 
parlor  again  that  night,  and  she  saw  that  both  the  doors  leading 
from  her  room  and  Alice's  into  the  hall  were  locked,  and  bolted, 
too.  Then  she  tried  to  reason  herself  into  a  tolerable  degree 
of  calmness  and  quiet,  as  she  thought  over  the  events  of  the 
evening  and  wondered  who  the  maniac  was. 

"  Alice's  mother,  most  likely,"  she  said,  and  a  great  throb  of 
pity  swept  over  her  for  the  young  girl  whose  life  had  been  so 
darkened  and  who  had  possibly  never  known  a  mother's  love 
any  more  than  she  herself  had  done. 

And  then  her  thoughts  went  out  after  her  own  mother,  with 
a  longing  desire  such  as-  she  had  seldom  felt.  Where  was  she 
that  wintry  night  ?  Was  she  far  from  or  was  she  near  to  the 
daughter  who  had  never  seen  her  face  to  remember  it  ?  Was 
she  living  still,  or  was  the  snow  piled  upon  her  grave,  and  would 
not  Magdalen  rather  have  her  thus  than  like  the  babbling  ma 
niac  who  had  startled  her  so  in  the  parlor  ?  She  believed  she 
would.  In  one  sense  Alice  was  more  to  be  pitied  than  herself, 
and  she  sat  thinking  of  the  young  girl  and  the  shadow  on  her 
life  until  the  fire  burned  out  upon  the  hearth,  and  she  crept 
shivering  to  bed.  But  not  to  sleep.  She  could  not  do  that  for 
the  peculiar  cry,  half  human,  half  unearthly,  which  from  time 
to  time  kept  coming  to  her  ears,  and  in  which  she  recognized 
tones  like  the  voice  heard  an  instant  in  the  parlor  be 
fore  consciousness  forsook  her.  There  was  evidently  a  great 
commotion  throughout  the  house,  the  servants  running  to  and 
frc  ;  but  no  one  came  near  her  until  the  early  dawn  was  stealing 
into  the  room,  and  giving  definite  shapes  and  forms  to  the  ob 
jects  about  her.  Then  there  was  a  tap  at  her  door,  and  Hon- 
ora's  voice  said  : 

"  Miss  Lennox,  will  you  come  with  me  and  see  what  you  can 
do  to  quiet  her  ?  She's  kept  screeching  for  you  all  night,  and 
Mrs.  Jenks,  who  is  in  her  senses  now,  says  maybe  you  can  influ 
ence  her.  Strangers  sometimes  do.  I'll  wait  outside  till  you 


284  MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY. 

are  ready.  You  needn't  be  afraid,  —  she  never  hir  t  any 
body." 

Magdalen  trembled  in  every  joint,  and  her  teeth  fairly  chat 
tered  as  she  hastened  to  dress  herself. 

"  It's  because  I'm  cold ;  there  certainly  is  nothing  to  fear," 
she  thought,  as  she  bound  her  hair  under  a  net  and  knotted 
her  dressing-gown  around  her  waist. 

She  had  never  been  through  the  baize  door,  and  as  Honora 
held  it  for  her  to  pass  she  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  trespassing 
upon  forbidden  ground.  But  the  door  swung  to  behind  her. 
She  was  shut  into  a  narrow  hall,  with  two  doors  on  the  right 
hand  side,  and  one  of  them  ajar.  The  mystery  she  was  going 
to  confront  was  beyond  that  door,  she  knew,  for  a  moaning  cry 
of  "  Let  me  go  to  her,  I  tell  you,"  met  her  ear,  and  made  her 
draw  a  little  closer  to  Honora,  who  said  to  her,  reassuringly, 
"  There  is  nothing  to  fear ;  she  is  perfectly  harmless." 

"Yes;  but  tell  me,  please,  who  it  is,"  Magdalen  said,  clutch 
ing  the  arm  of  the  girl,  who  replied  : 

"  Oh,  I  supposed  you  knew.     It  is  Mrs.  Grey." 

Magdalen's  conjectures  were  correct,  and  she  went  fearlessly 
up  to  the  door,  which  Honora  opened  wide  and  then  shut  behind 
her,  leaving  her  standing  just  across  the  threshold  in  the  room 
which  held  the  Mystery  at  Beechwood. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

MAGDALEN   AND   THE   MYSTERY. 

MYSTERY  no  longer,  but  a  living,  breathing,  panting 
woman,  with  wild,  rolling  eyes,  masses  of  jet-black 
hair  streaked  with  gray  streaming  down  her  back,  and 
long  white  arms  and  hands,  which  beat  the  air  helplessly  as  she 
tried  to  escape  from  the  firm  grasp  of  her  attendant,  Mrs. 
Jenks.  It  was  Magdalen's  first  close  contact  with  a  maniac, 


MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY.  285 

and  she  drew  back  a  step  or  two,  appalled  by  the  wild  out- 
cry  with  which  the  woman  greeted  her,  and  the  desperate 
spring  she  made  toward  the  spot  where  she  was  standing.  Fot 
an  instant  she  was  tempted  to  flee  from  the  room,  but  Mrs. 
Jenks  had  her  patient  under  control  by  virtue  of  superior 
strength.  There  was  no  escaping  from  the  vice-like  grasp  of 
her  strong  arms,  and  so  Magdalen  stood  still  and  gazed  spell 
bound  upon  the  terrible  spectacle. 

"  Come  nearer  and  see  what  effect  your  speaking  to  her  will 
have.  She  has  asked  for  you  all  night ;  she  will  not  hurt  you," 
Mrs.  Jenks  said,  and  Magdalen  went  up  to  the  poor,  restless, 
tossing  creature,  and  sitting  down  upon  the  bed  took  in  her 
own  the  hot  hand  which  was  extended  toward  her. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Mrs.  Grey  ?  "  she  said,  softly 
caressing  the  wasted  hand  which  held  hers  so  tightly. 

Quick  as  lightning  a  gleam  of  anger  shot  from  the  black 
eyes  as  the  woman  replied  : 

"  Don't  insult  me  by  calling  me  Mrs.  Grey.  That  name  has 
been  a  curse  to  me  from  the  moment  I  bore  it.  Call  me  Laura, 
or  nothing ! " 

"  Weil,  then,  Laura,  can  I  do  anything  to  make  you  better  ?  " 
Magdalen  said,  and  the  woman  replied,  "  Yes,  stay  with  me  al 
ways,  and  sing  as  you  did  last  night  when  I  thought  the  angels 
called  me  ;  and  put  your  hand  on  my  head  ;  —  feel  how  hot  it  is. 
There  is  a  lost  baby's  soul  in  there,  burning  up  for  my  sin." 

She  carried  Magdalen's  hand  to  her  forehead,  which  was  hot 
with  fever  and  excitement,  and  Magdalen  could  feel  the  blood 
throbbing  through  the  swollen  veins. 

"  Poor  Laura,"  she  said,  "  poor,  sick  woman  !  I  am  so  sorry 
for  you.  I  would  have  come  before  if  I  had  known  you  wanted 
me." 

"  Yes  but  don't  waste  time  in  words.  I've  had  a  plenty  of 
those  all  my  life.  Sing  !  sing  !  sing  !  —  that  is  what  I  want,"  in 
terrupted  the  crazy  wonaan,  and  sitting  on  the  bed,  with  the  aot 
hand  grasping  hers,  Magdalen  tried  to  think  what  she  could 
sing  that  would  soothe  her  excited  patient. 


286  MAGDAL&N  AND   THE  MYSTERY. 

There  was  a  trembling  in  her  joints  and  a  choking  sensation 
in  her  throat  which  seemed  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  hei 
singing,  but  she  made  a  great  effort  to  control  herself,  and  at 
last  began  the  beautiful  hymn,  "  Peace,  troubled  soul,"  her 
voice  growing  in  steadiness  and  sweetness  and  volume  as  she 
saw  the  effect  it  had  upon  poor  Laura,  whose  eyes  grew  soft 
and  gentle,  and  finally  filled  with  tears,  which  rolled  in -great 
drops  down  her  sunken  cheeks. 

Mrs.  Jenkshad  relaxed  her  vigilance  now,  and  Laura  lay  per 
fectly  still,  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  the  song,  and  keep 
ing  her  eyes  fixed  upon  Magdalen's  face,  as  if  there  were  some 
spell  to  hold  them  there. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  she  asked,  when  the  song  had  ceased. 
"  Where  did  you  come  from  and  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

I  came  to  live  with  Alice.  You  know  Alice,"  Magdalen 
said,  —  "  she  is  your  daughter." 

"  Yes,  one  of  them ;  but  not  that  one,  over  there  in  the 
cradle.  Please  give  it  a  little  jog.  I  can't  have  my  baby  wak 
ing  up  and  crying,  for  that  disturbs  Arthur,  and  he  might  send  it 
away  to  goat's  milk  and  a  wet  nurse.  Give  it  a  jog,  please." 

She  pointed  to  the  head  of  her  bed,  and  for  the  first  time 
Magdalen  observed  a  pretty  little  rosewood  crib,  with  dainty 
pillow-cases,  ruffled  and  fluted,  and  snowy  Marseilles  quilt, 
spotlessly  white  and  clean.  But  there  was  no  infant's  head  upon 
the  pillow,  no  little  hands  outside  the  spread,  or  sound  of  in 
fant's  breathing. 

The  crib  was  empty,  and  Magdalen  glanced  inquiringly  at 
Mrs.  Jenks,  who  said : 

"  You  may  as  well  rock  it  first  as  last.  She  will  give  you  no 
peace  till  you  do.  It's  a  fancy  of  hers  that  there's  a  baby 
there,  and  she  sometimes  rocks  it  day  and  night.  She  is  always 
quiet  when  she  is  on  that  tack,  but  sometimes  the  baby  gets 
out  of  the  cradle  into  her  head,  and  then  there  is  no  pacifying 
her.  Her  tantrum  is  over  now,  and,  if  you  are  willing,  I'll  leave 
her  with  you  a  few  moments.  I  shan't  be  out  of  hearing.  My 
room  is  across  the  hall." 


MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY.  287 

She  was  evidently  anxious  to  get  away ;  and  Magdalen,  who 
would  not  confess  to  any  fear,  was  left  alone  with  the  crazy 
woman.  She  had  drawn  the  crib  nearer  to  her,  and  with  her 
foot  upon  the  rocker  kept  it  in  motion,  while  Laura  com 
menced  a  low,  cooing  sort  of  lullaby  of  "  Hush,  my  darling ! 
mother's  near  you  ! " 

The  novelty  of  her  situation,  and  the  wakefulness  of  the  pre 
vious  night,  began  to  have  a  strange  effect  on  Magdalen,  and,  as 
she  rocked  the  cradle  to  the  sound  of  that  low,  mournful  music, 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  were  her  own  self  she  was  rocking,  her 
self  far  back  in  that  past  of  which  she  knew  so  little.  There  was 
a  dizzy  feeling  in  her  head,  a  humming  in  her  ears,  and  for  a  few 
moments  she  felt  almost  as  crazy  as  the  woman  at  her  side.  But 
as  she  became  more  accustomed  to  the  room  and  the  situation, 
she  grew  calmer  and  less  nervous,  and  could  think  what  it  was 
better  to  reply  to  the  strange  questions  her  companion  some 
times  put  to  her. 

"  If  a  person  killed  something  and  didn't  know  it,  and  didn't 
mean  to,  and  didn't  know  as  they  had  killed  it,  would  God  call 
them  a  murderer,  as  He  did  Cain  ?  " 

This  was  one  question,  and  Magdalen  replied  at  random, 
that  in  such  a  case  it  was  no  murder,  and  God  would  not  so 
consider  it. 

"  Then  why  has  He  branded  me  here  in  my  head,  where  it 
keeps  thump,  thump !  just  like  the  beating  of  a  drum,  and 
where  it  is  so  hot  and  snarled  ?  "  Laura  asked.  Then,  before 
Magdalen  could  reply,  she  continued  :  "I  did  not  mean  to  kill 
it,  and  I  don't  think  I  did.  I  put  it  somewhere,  or  gave  it  to 
somebody ;  but  the  more  I  try  to  think,  the  more  it  thumps, 
and  thumps,  and  I  can't  make  it  out;  only  I  didn't;  didn't 
truly  mean  to  kill  it.  Oh,  baby  !  No,  no  !  I  didn't !  I  didn't ! " 

She  was  sobbing  in  a  pitiful  kind  of  way,  and  Magdalen 
moved  her  position  so  that  she  could  take  the  poor,  tired, 
"  twisted  "  head  upon  her  bosom,  while  she  soothed  and  conv 
forted  the  moaning  woman,  softly  smoothing  her  tangled  hair 


288  MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY. 

and  asking  her,  at  last,  if  she  would  not  like  it  brushed  and  put 
up  out  of  her  way. 

"  It  will  look  nicer  so,"  she  said ;  and,  as  Laura  made  no  ob 
jection,  she  brought  the  brush  and  comb  from  a  little  basket  on 
the  bureau,  and  then  set  herself  to  the  task  of  combing  out  the 
matted  hair,  which  had  been  sorely  neglected  since  Alice  went 
away. 

"  Allie  will  be  glad  to  know  I  am  so  nice.  She  likes  me 
neat  and  tidy,  but  a  woman  with  a  child  to  tend  cannot  always 
keep  herself  as  she  would,"  Laura  said,  when  the  hair-dressing 
was  ended  and  Magdalen  had  buttoned  her  night-dress,  and 
thrown  around  her  a  crimson  shawl  which  hung  across  the  bed. 

The  woman  herself  was  rocking  the  cradle  now,  and  signal 
ing  Magdalen  to  be  quiet,  for  baby  was  waking  up.  To  her 
there  was  a  living,  breathing  child  in  that  empty  cradle,  and 
as  her  warning  "  sh-sh  "  rang  through  the  room,  Magdalen  shud 
dered  involuntarily,  and  felt  a  kind  of  terror  of  that  crib,  as  if 
it  held  a  goblin  child.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Grey  turned  to  her  and 
said  : 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  your  name,  or  else  I  have  forgotten." 

"  My  name  is  Magdalen  Lennox,"  was  the  reply,  and  instantly 
the  black  eyes  flashed  a  keen  look  of  curiosity  upon  the  young 
girl,  who  winced  a  little,  but  never  turned  her  own  eyes  away 
from  those  confronting  her  so  fixedly. 

"  Magdalen,"  the  woman  said,  "  Magdalen.  That  brings  it 
back  to  me  in  part.  I  remember  now.  That  was  the  name  I 
gave  her  when  she  was  christened,  because  I  thought  it  would 
please  Arthur,  who  was  over  the  sea.  He  wanted  to  call  Alice 
that,  but  I  was  hot,  and  angry,  and  worried  in  those  days,  and 
my  temper  ran  very  high,  and  I  would  riot  suffer  it,  for  out  of 
Magdalen  went  seven  devils,  you  know,  and  out  of  his  Magda 
len  went  fourteen,  I'm  sure.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  I 
heard,  and  he  loved  her  better  than  he  did  me,  —  loved  her  first 
when  he  was  young.  I  found  it  out  when  it  was  too  late.  His 
mother  told  me  so  one  day  when  she  couldn't  think  of  anything 
else  to  torment  me  with.  T'le  Duchess  of  Beechwood  !  She's 


MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY.  289 

out  under  the  snow  now,  and  he/  monument  is  as  tall  as  the 
Tower  of  Babel.  She  was  a  dreadful  woman,  — •  she  and  Cla 
rissa  both;  that  was  her  daughter,  and  they  just  worried  and 
tormented  and  hunted  me  down,  until  I  went  away.  " 

Magdalen  was  gaining  some  insight  into  the  family  history 
of  the  Greys,  though  how  much  of  what  she  heard  was  true  she1 
could  not  tell.  One  thing,  however,  struck  her  forcibly.  She 
knew  that  poor  Jessie  Morton's  second  name  was  Magdalen, 
and  from  some  source  she  had  heard  that  Mr.  Grey  used*  fre 
quently  to  call  her  by  that  name,  which  he  preferred  to  Jessie, 
and  when  Mrs.  Grey  alluded  to  the  beautiful  woman  whom  her 
husband  had  loved  better  than  his  wife,  she  felt  at  once  that  it 
was  Jessie  to  whom  reference  was  made,  —  Jessie  who  had  un 
wittingly  made  trouble  in  this  lamily, — Jessie  for  whom  the 
father  would  have  called  Alice,  his  first  born,  and  for  whom  it 
would  seem  a  later  child  was  subsequently  named.  She  wanted 
so  much  to  ask  questions  herself,  but  a  natural  delicacy  pre 
vented  her.  She  had  no  right  to  take  advantage  of  a  lunatic's 
ravings  and  pry  into  family  matters,  so  she  sat  very  quiet  for  a 
few  moments  watching  her  patient,  who  said  at  last  : 

"Yes,  that  brings  it  back  in  part.  St.  Luke's  Church,  and 
mother,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Storms  were  sponsors,  and  we  called 
one  Madeline,  and  the  other  Magdalen  after  the  woman  that 
Arthur  liked  the  best.  Did  you  ever  see  her  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  her  picture.  I  lived  in  her  house,"  Magdalen 
replied : 

"Tell  me  of  her.  Was  she  prettier  than  I  am?  —  though 
how  should  you  know  that,  when  you've  only  seen  the  gray- 
haired,  wrinkled,  yellow  hag  they  keep  shut  up  so  close  at 
Beechwood?  But  I  was  handsome  once,  years  ago,  when 
mother  made  those  shirts  for  Arthur  and  I  did  them  up,  and  he 
came  before  they  were  done  and  sat  by  the  table  and  watched 
me  and  said  my  hands  were  too  small  and  pretty  to  handle  that 
heavy  iron,  —  they  would  look  better  with  rings  and  diamonds, 
iind  he  guessed  he  must  get  me  some,  I  wore  a  pink  gingham 
dress  that  day,  and  hated  ironing  and  sewing  after  that,  and 
"3 


29O  MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY. 

wished  I  was  a  lady  like  those  at  the  hotel  where  Arthur 
boarded,  and  I  took  a  dollar  and  bought  a  ring  and  put  it  on 
my  finger,  and  the  next  time  he  came  he  laughed  and  held  my 
hand  while  he  looked  at  it,  and  told  me  he  would  get  a  better 
one  if  I  would  go  with  him  to  the  jeweller's.  Mother  would 
not  let  me,  and  she  had  high  words  with  him  and  ordered  him 
away  and  called  him  a  hard  name,  —  a  villain,  who  only  wanted 
to  ruin  me.  I  was  sick  ever  so  long  after  that  with  something 
in  my  head,  though  not  like  what's  got  into  it  since.  Arthur 
sent  me  flowers  and  fruit  and  little  notes,  and  came  to  the  door 
to  inquire,  but  still  mother  would  not  believe  him  true.  When 
I  was  most  well  he  wrote  a  letter  asking  me  to  meet  him,  and 
I  ran  away  from  mother  and  was  married,  and  had  the  rings  at 
last,  —  a  diamond  and  emerald  and  the  plain  gold  one,  —  and  a 
white  satin  gown,  and  we  travelled  far  and  wide,  and  I  looked 
like  a  queen  when  he  brought  me  here  to  the  Duchess  and 
Lady  Clarissa,  and  then  to  Penelope,  who  lived  in  New  York, 
and  wasn't  quite  so  bad,  though  she  snubbed  me  some.  I  was 
not  as  happy  as  I  thought  I  should  be,  for  Arthur  stayed  so 
much  in  New  York,  and  his  mother  was  so  cold  and  grand  and 
stiff,  that  I  lay  awake  nights  to  hate  her,  and  when  Alice  was 
born  the  Duchess  sent  her  out  to  nurse,  because  I  was  low-bred 
and  vulgar,  and  Arthur  got  sick  of  me  and  stayed  in  New  York 
more  than  ever,  and  left  me  to  fight  my  way  alone  with  the 
dragons,  and  I  got  so  at  last  that  I  did  fight  good" 

Her  eyes  were  flashing  fiercely,  and  Magdalen,  who  had  lis 
tened  breathlessly  to  the  strange  story,  could  readily  imagine 
just  how  that  black-eyed,  high-spirited  creature  did  fight,  as  she 
termed  it,  when  once  she  was  fairly  roused  to  action.  There 
were  rage  and  passion  delineated  in  every  feature  now,  and  her 
face  was  a  bright  purple  as  she  hurled  her  invectives  against 
Arthur's  mother  and  sister  Clarissa,  who,  it  would  seem,  had 
persecuted  her  so  sorely,  and  who  were  now  "  lying  under  the 
snpjy." 

'?  Tney  gave  me  no  peace  day  or  night.  They  took  Allie 
away.  They  turned  Arthur  against  me ;  they  said  I  was  low 


MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY.  2$I 

and  ignorant  and  poor,  and  finally  they  hinted  that  I  was  crazy, 
- —  made  so  by  temper,  —  and  that  I  would  not  stand,  so  I  went 
away ;  and  Arthur  went  East  and  I  West  to  mother,  and  the 
baby  was  born,  which  Arthur  knew  nothing  about,  and  mothei 
died,  and  the  other  baby  died,  and  I  was  alone,  and  went  awhile 
to  Mrs.  Storms  ;  and  then  I  drifted  back  here.  I  don't  know 
how,  nor  when,  nor  where,  nor  what  happened  after  I  left 
Mrs.  Storms  only  I  lost  baby,  but  I  didn't  kill  it,  Heaven 
knows  I  didn't.  I  lost  it,  but  Providence  sent  it  back,  so  I 
can  see  it,  though  nobody  else  does,  and  it's  there  in  the  cradle, 
and  I've  rocked  it  ever  since,  and  worn  the  carpet  through. 
Don't  you  see  the  white  spots?  Those  are  baby's  foot 
prints." 

She  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  bed  and  pointed  to  the 
breadth  of  carpet  which  was  worn  white  and  threadbare  with 
the  constant  motion  of  the  crib.  Tt  was  not  the  first  carpet  she 
had  worn  out,  nor  the  second,  for  "  she  had  to  rock  to  keep 
the  baby  quiet,  even  if  it  did  annoy  Arthur  so,"  she  said ;  and 
Magdalen's  heart  ached  for  the  poor,  demented  creature,  while 
in  spite  of  all  his  faults  she  pitied  the  man  who  was  designated 
as  Arthur,  and  who  must  suffer  fearfully  with  such  a  wife. 
Laura's  story,  so  long  as  it  pertained  to  her  girlhood  and  early 
married  life,  had  been  quite  connected  and  reasonable,  and 
Magdalen  gained  a  tolerably  clear  understanding  of  the  matter. 
Arthur  Grey  had  accidentally  found  this  woman,  who  when 
young  must  have  been  as  beautiful  as  she  was  poor  and  lowly 
born.  The  obstacles  thrown  in  his  way  had  only  increased  his 
passion,  which  finally  outweighed  every  other  consideration, 
and  led  to  a  clandestine  marriage,  wholly  distasteful  to  the 
proud  mother  and  sisters,  who  had  so  violently  opposed  poo 
Jessie  Morton.  That  they  had  made  Laura's  life  very  un 
happy;  that  the  fickle  husband,  grown  weary  of  his  unsophis 
ticated  wife,  had  cruelly  neglected  her,  until  at  last  in  despera 
tion  she  had  gone  away,  Magdalen  gathered  from  the  story  told 
so  rapidly  ;  but  after  that  she  failed  to  comprehend  what  she 
heard.  The  baby  which  Laura  said  had  died,  and  the  one 


MAGDALEN  AND    THE  MYSTERY. 

which  she  did  not  kill  and  which  she  had  christened  Magdalen, 
with  Mrs.  Storms  as  sponsor,  were  enigmas  which  she  could 
not  solve.  It  struck  her  as  a  strange  coincidence  that  she  her 
self  and  the  lost  baby  of  the  Greys  should  have  borne  the  same 
name,  and  for  the  same  woman ;  and  she  wondered  what  it 
was  about  that  child  which  had  affected  the  mother  so  strangely 
and  put  such  wild  fancies  into  her  head.  Her  hand  had 
dropped  from  the  cradle  now,  the  rocking  had  ceased,  and  the 
tired,  worn-out  woman,  who  had  tossed  and  shrieked  and  strug 
gled  the  livelong  night,  was  falling  asleep.  Once,  as  her  heavy 
lids  began  to  droop,  she  started  up,  and  reaching  for  Magda 
len's  hand,  said  to  her,  "Don't  leave  me  !  I  am  better  with 
you  here.  Stay  and  sing  more  songs  to  me  about  the  troubled 
soul.  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  was  in  Heaven." 

She  held  Magdalen's  hand  in  her  own,  and  Magdalen  sang 
to  her  again,  while  the  tears  rained  from  Laura's  eyes,  and 
rolled  down  her  faded  cheeks. 

"  Let  me  cry  ;  it  does  me  good,"  she  said,  when  Magdalen 
tried  to  soothe  her.  "  It  cools  me,  and  my  head  seems  to 
grow  clearer  about  the  baby.  It  will  come  to  me  by  and  by, 
what  I  did  with  her.  Oh,  my  child,  my  darling,  God  has 
surely  kept  her  safe  somewhere." 

She  was  talking  very  low  and  slowly,  and  Magdalen  watched 
her  until  the  lips  ceased  to  move,  and  the  long  eyelashes  still 
wet  with  tears  rested  upon  the  flushed  cheeks.  She  was  asleep 
at  last,  and  Magdalen,  looking  at  her,  knew  that  she  must  have 
been  beautiful  in  her  early  girlhood  when  Arthur  Grey  had  won 
her  for  his  bride.  Traces  of  beauty  she  had  yet,  in  the  regular 
ity  of  her  features,  her  well-shaped  head,  her  abundant  hair, 
with  just  a  little  ripple  in  it,  her  white  forehead,  and  even  teeth 
which  showed  no  signs  of  decay.  She  was  not  old  either,  and 
Magdalen  thought  how  young  she  must  have  been  when  she 
became  a  wife. 

"  Poor  woman  !  her  life  has  been  a  failure,"  she  said,  as  she 
drew  the  covering  around  the  shoulders  and  over  the  hands,  on 


A    GLIMMZR    OF  LIGHT. 

one  of  which  the  wedding  ring  and  a  superb  diamond  were  still 
shining. 

Mrs.  Jenks  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  resume  her  post,  and 
weary  from  her  wakefulness  of  the  previous  night,  Magdalen 
settled  herself  in  the  large  easy  chair  by  the  bed,  and  was  soon 
so  fast  asleep,  that  until  twice  repeated  she  did  not  heaj 
Honora,  who  came  to  tell  her  that  breakfast  was  waiting  for 
her. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A   GLIMMER   OF   LIGHT. 

LL  that  day  Magdalen  stayed  with  Mrs.  Grey,  who 
clung  to  her  as  a  child  clings  to  its  mother,  and  who 
was  more  quiet  and  manageable  than  she  had  been  in 
many  weeks.  Magdalen  could  soothe  and  control  her  as  no 
one  else  had  done  since  she  left  the  private  asylum  where  her 
husband  had  kept  her  so  long,  and  this  she  did  by  the  touch  of 
her  hand,  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  the  glance  of  her  eye, 
which  fascinated  and  subdued  her  patient  at  once. 

That  night  Mrs.  Seymour  and  Alice  came  home,  accompa 
nied  by  Guy.  They  had  not  been  expected  quite  so  soon,  and 
Magdalen  knew  nothing  of  their  arrival  until  Alice,  who  had 
heard  from  Honora  what  had  transpired  during  her  absence, 
entered  the  room.  Mrs.  Grey  was  sitting  up  in  her  large  arm 
chair,  her  dressing  gown  and  shawl  carefully  arranged,  her  hair 
nicely  combed,  and  a  look  of  content  upon  her  face  which 
Alice  had  rarely  seen.  She  was  rocking  still,  with  one  foot  on 
the  crib  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  Magdalen,  who  was  repeating  to 
her  the  Culprit  Fay,  which  she  knew  by  heart,  and  to  which  the 
childish  woman  listened  with  all  the  absorbing  interest  of  a  lit 
tie  girl  of  ten.  At  sight  of  Alice  there  came  a  sudden  gleam 
of  joy  over  her  face,  succeeded  by  a  look  of  fear  as  she  wound 
both  arms  tightly  around  Magdalen's  neck,  exclaiming  : 


294  -*   GLIMMER   OF  LIGHT. 

"Oh.  Allie,1'm  glad  you've  come,  but  you  must  not  tak< 
her  away.  She  does  me  good.  I'm  better  with  her.  Say 
that  she  may  stay." 

There  was  a  momentary  look  of  pain  in  Alice's  eyes  at  see 
ing  a  stranger  thus  preferred  to  herself;  but  that  quickly  passed, 
and  stooping  over  her  mother,  she  kissed  her  tenderly,  and 
said : 

"  Magdalen  shall  stay  with  you  as  long  as  she  will.  I  am 
glad  you  like  her  so  well.  We  all  love  Magdalen." 

"  Yes,  and  it's  coming  back  to  me.  That  was  baby's  name,  — • 
the  one  I  gave  her  to  please  your  father,  and  by  and  by  I'll 
think  just  where  it  is." 

Alice  shot  a  quick,  inquiring  glance  at  Magdalen,  as  if  to  ask 
how  much  of  their  family  history  her  mother  had  revealed,  but 
Magdalen  merely  said : 

"  She  seems  to  think  there  is  a  baby  in  the  cradle,  —  a  baby 
whom  she  says  she  lost  or  mislaid.  It  died,  I  suppose." 

"  Poor  mother,  she  has  suffered  so  much  for  that  dead 
child,"  was  Alice's  only  reply,  as  she  stood  caressing  her 
mother's  hair. 

Then  she  tried  to  tell  her  something  of  her  visit  to  New  York 
and  the  rare  music  she  had  heard  ;  but  Mrs.  Grey  did  not  care 
for  that,  and  said  a  little  impatiently,  "  Don't  bother  me  now  ; 
I'm  listening  to  the  story.  Go  on,  Magdalen.  He  was  just  go 
ing  to  relight  his  lamp,  and  I  want  it  over  with,  for  I  know  how 
he  felt.  My  lamp  has  gone  out,  and  all  the  falling  stars  in 
heaven  can't  light  it." 

"  I  see  you  are  preferred  to  me,"  Alice  said  to  Magdalen ; 
"  but  if  you  do  her  good,  and  I  can  see  that  you  have  already, 
I  bless  you  for  it.  Poor,  dear  mother,  who  has  never  known  a 
rational  moment  since  I  can  remember." 

She  kissed  her  mother  again,  and  then  left  the  room,  while 
Magdalen  went  on  with  her  fairy  tale,  parts  of  which  she  repeat 
ed  twice,  and  even  thrice,  before  her  auditor  was  satisfied. 

After  that  Magdalen  spent  most  of  her  time  with  the  poor  lu 
natic,  who,  if  she  attempted  to  leave  her,  would  say  .so  plead- 


A    GLIMMER   OF  LIGHT.  2$$ 

ingly,  "  Stay  with  me,  Magda  ;  don't  go.  It's  beginning  to 
come  back." 

She  called  her  Magda  altogether,  and  though  that  name  was 
sacred  to  Roger's  memory,  Magdalen  felt  as  if  there  was  a  bless 
ing  in  the  way  the  poor  invalid  spoke  it,  and  her  heart  throbbed 
with  a  strange  kind  of  feeling  every  time  she  heard  the 
"Ma-ag-da,"  as  Mrs.  Grey  pronounced  it,  dwelling  upon  the 
first  syllable,  and  shortening  up  the  last. 

Mr.  Grey  was  still  absent,  glad,  it  would  seem,  of  an  excuse 
to  stay  away  from  the  tiresome  burden  at  home.  He  had  gone 
to  Cincinnati,  to  look  after  some  property  which  belonged  to 
his  wife,  and  as  there  was  some  difficulty  in  proving  his  claim  to 
a  portion  of  it,  which  had  more  than  quadrupled  in  value  and 
was  now  in  great  demand,  it  was  desirable  that  all  doubts 
should  be  forever  settled  ;  so  he  wrote  to  Alice,  that  he  should 
stay  until  matters  were  satisfactorily  adjusted.  He  had  heard 
of  Magdalen's  kind  offices  in  the  sick  room,  and  he  sent  a  note 
to  her,  adjuring  her  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Grey  so  long  as  her  in 
fluence  over  her  was  what  Alice  had  reported  it  to  be. 

"  Money  can  never  pay  you,"  he  said,  "  if  you  succeed  in  do 
ing  her  good,  or  even  in  keeping  her  quiet  for  any  length  of 
time  ;  but  to  show  you  that  I  appreciate  your  services,  I  will 
from  this  time  forward  make  your  salary  one  thousand  dollars 
per  annum  as  Mrs.  Grey's  attendant.  It  is  strange  the  influence 
which  some  people  have  over  her,  and  strange  that  you,  a  girl, 
can  control  her,  as  Alice  says  you  do.  Perhaps  she  recognizes 
in  you  something  that  exists  in  herself,  and  so,  on  the  principle 
that  like  subdues  like,  she  is  subdued  by  you.  The  very  first 
time  I  saw  you,  there  was  something  in  your  eyes  and  the  toss 
of  your  head  which  reminded  me  of  her  as  she  was  when  I  first 
knew  her,  but  of  course  the  resemblance  goes  no  further.  I 
would  weep  tears  of  blood  sooner  than  have  your  young  life  and 
bright  beauty  darkened  as  Laura's  has  been." 

When  Magdalen  received  this  note  she  was  in  a  state  of  wild  ex 
citement,  and  hardly  realized  what  Mr.  Grey  had  written,  until  she 
reached  ihe  part  where  he  spoke  of  her  resemblance  to  his  wife. 


296       .  A    GLIMMER   OF  LIGHT. 

11  Something  in  your  eyes  and  the  toss  of  your  head." 

She  read  that  sentence  twice,  and  her  eyes  grew  larger  and 
darker  than  their  wont  as  she  too  saw  herself  in  the  motions, 
and  gestures,  and  even  looks  of  the  maniac,  whose  talk  that  very 
day,  whether  true  or  false,  had  sent  through  her  veins  a  thrill  of 
conjecture  so  sudden  and  wonderful,  that  for  an  instant  she  had 
felt  as  if  she  were  fainting.  Alice  had  talked  but  little  of  her 
mother's  insanity.  It  was  a  great  grief  to  them  all,  she  had 
said,  and  she  had  wished  to  keep  it  from  Magdalen  as  long  as 
possible,  fearing  lest  the  fact  of  there  being  a  lunatic  in  the 
house  might  trouble  her,  as  it  had  done  others  who  came  to 
Beechwood.  Of  the  fancy  about  the  baby  she  had  never  of 
fered  any  explanation,  and  Magdalen  had  ceased  to  think  much 
of  it,  except  as  the  vagary  of  a  lunatic,  until  the  day  when  she 
received  the  note  from  Mr.  Grey.  That  afternoon  Laura  had 
talked  a  great  deal,  fancying  herself  to  be  in  the  cars,  and 
sometimes  baby  was  with  her  and  sometimes  it  was  not. 

"  That  is  the  very  last  I  remember,"  she  said,  apparently 
talking  to  herself.  "  I  took  the  train  at  Cincinnati,  and  baby 
was  with  me ;  I  left  the  train,  and  baby  was  not  with  me.  I've 
never  seen  her  since,  but  I  think  I  gave  her  to  a  boy.  It  was 
ever  so  long  before  I  got  home,  and  everything  was  gone,  bag 
gage,  baby  and  all.  I  can't  think  any  more." 

Her  voice  ceased  at  this  point,  and  Magdalen  knew  she  was 
asleep  ;  but  for  herself  she  felt  that  she  too  was  going  mad  with 
the  suspicion  which  kept  growing  in  intensity,  as  she  recalled 
other  things  she  had  heard  from  Mrs.  Grey,  and  to  which  she 
had  paid  no  attention  at  the  time.  Once  she  arose  and  going 
to  the  glass  studied  her  own  face  intently.  Then  she  stole  to 
the  bedside  of  the  sleeping  woman  and  examined  her  features 
one  by  one,  while  all  the  time  the  faintness  was  increasing  at  her 
heart,  and  the  blood  seemed  congealing  in  her  veins.  There  was 
no  trace  of  color  in  her  face  that  night  when  she  met  the  family 
at  dinner,  and  AKce  half  shrunk  from  the  eyes  which  fastened 
so  greedily  upon  her  and  scarcely  left  her  face  a  moment. 

"  What  is  it,  Magdalen  ?  "  she  asked  after  dinner,  when  they 


A    GLIMMER   OF  LIGHT.  297 

were  standing  alone  before  the  parlor  fire,  and  she  felt  the 
burning  eyes  still  on  her.  "  What  is  it,  Magdalen  ?  Is  any 
thing  the  matter  ?  " 

Then  Magdalen's  arms  twined  themselves  around  the  young 
girl's  neck  in  an  embrace  which  had  something  almost  fierce  in 
its  fervor. 

"  Oh,  Alice,  my  darling ;  if  it  could  be,  if  it  could  be  ! " 

That  was  the  answer  Magdalen  made,  and  her  voice  was 
choked  with  tears,  which  fell  in  torrents  upon  Alice's  upturned 
face. 

"  Excuse  me,  do  !"  she  added,  releasing  the  young  girl,  and 
recovering  her  composure.  "  I  am  nervous  to-night.  I  can't 
go  back  to  your  mother.  I  shall  be  as  mad  as  she  is  in  a  little 
while.  Will  you  take  my  place  in  her  room  just  for  this  even 
ing?" 

Alice  assented  readily,  and  after  a  few  moments  she  left  the 
parlor,  and  Magdalen  was  alone.  But  she  could  not  keep 
quiet  with  that  great  doubt  hanging  over  her  and  that  wild  hope 
tugging  at  her  heart.  Rapidly  she  walked  up  and  down  the 
long  parlors,  while  the  perspiration  started  about  her  forehead 
and  lips,  which  were  so  ashy  pale  that  they  attracted  the  atten 
tion  of  Mrs.  Seymour,  when  she  at  last  came  in,  bringing  her 
crocheting  with  her. 

"Are  you  sick,  Miss  Lennox?"  she  asked  in  some  alarm  ; 
and  then  Magdalen's  resolution  was  taken,  and  turning  to  the 
lady,  whose  shoulder  she  grasped,  she  said,  "  Please  come  with 
me  to  my  room,  where  we  can  be  alone  and  free  from  interrup 
tion.  There  is  something  I  wish  you  to  tell  me."  And  with 
out  waiting  for  an  answer  she  led  the  astonished  woman  intc 
the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  in  the  direction  of  her  own  room. 


298  MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  -MAGDALEN. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

MRS.    SEYMOUR  AND   MAGDALEN. 

jjAVING  locked  the  door,  Magdalen  brought  a  chair  to 
Mrs.  Seymour,  and  said : 

"  You  are  out  of  breath  ;  sit  there,  but  let  me 
stand.  I  should  suffocate  if  I  were  sitting  down.  I  feel  as  if 
a  hundred  pairs  of  lungs  were  rising  in  my  throat." 

She  was  paler  now  than  when  Mrs.  Seymour  first  met  her  in 
the  parlor,  and  her  eyes  flashed  and  sparkled  and  glowed  as 
only  one  pair  of  eyes  had  ever  done  before  in  Mrs.  Seymour's 
presence,  and  for  an  instant  a  doubt  of  the  young  girl's  sanity 
crossed  that  lady's  mind,  and  she  glanced  uneasily  at  the  door, 
as  if  contemplating  an  escape.  But  Magdalen  was  standing 
before  her,  and  Magdalen's  eyes  held  her  fast.  She  dared  not 
go  now  if  she  could,  and  she  asked  nervously  what  Miss  Len 
nox  wanted  of  her. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  it  is  about  the  child  of  whom 
Mrs.  Grey  talks  so  much.  Was  there  a  child  born  after  Alice, 
say  nineteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  and  did  it  die,  or  was  it  lost ; 
and  if  so,  when,  and  how ;  and  was  Mrs.  Grey  here  when  it  was 
born,  or  was  she  somewhere  else,  in  Cincinnati  or  vicinity? 
Tell  me  that.  Tell  me  all  about  it." 

Mrs.  Seymour  was  very  proud  and  haughty,  and  very  reticent 
with  regard  to  their  family  matters,  especially 1  he  matters  pertain 
ing  to  her  brother's  marriage  and  his  wife's  insanity.  She  never 
talked  of  them  to  any  one  except  Guy,  from  whom  she  had  no 
secrets ;  and  her  most  intimate  friends,  the  Dagons  and  Drag- 
gons  of  New  York  society,  knew  nothing  except  what  rumor 
told  them  of  the  demented  woman  who  made  Beechwood  a 
prison  rather  than  a  paradise.  How,  then,  was  she  startled, 
and  shocked,  and  astonished,  when  this  young  girl,  —  this  hired 
companion  for  her  niece,  —  demanded  of  her  a  full  recital  of 


MRS.    SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN1.  299 

what  she  had  never  told  her  most  familiar  friends.  Not  asked 
for  it,  but  demanded  it  as  a  right,  and  enforced  the  demand  with 
burning  eyes  and  the  half-menacing  attitude  of  one  determined 
to  have  her  way.  Ordinarily  Mrs.  Seymour  would  have  put 
this  girl  down,  as  she  termed  it,  and  given  her  a  lesson  in  good 
breeding  and  manners,  but  there  was  something  about  her  now 
which  precluded  all  that,  and  after  a  moment  she  said  : 

"  Your  conduct  is  very  strange,  Miss  Lennox.  Very  strange 
indeed,  and  what  I  did  not  expect  from  you.  I  suppose  I  may 
be  permitted  to  ask  your  right  to  a  story  which  few  have  ever 
heard?" 

"  Certainly,"  Magdalen  replied ;  "  question  my  right  as  much 
as  you  like,  only  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know.  Was  there  a 
child,  and  did  it  die?" 

"  There  was  a  child,  and  it  did  die,"  Mrs.  Seymour  said,  and 
Magdalen,  nothing  daunted,  continued  :  "  How  do  you  know 
it  died  ?  Did  you  see  it  dead  ?  She  says  she  left  it  in  the  cars  ; 
she  told  me  so  to-day.  Oh,  Mrs.  Seymour,  tell  me,  please 
what  you  know  about  that  child  before  I,  too,  go  mad  !  " 

Magdalen  was  kneeling  now  before  Mrs.  Seymour,  on  whose 
lap  her  hands  were  clasped,  and  her  beautiful  face  was  all  aglow 
with  her  excitement  as  she  continued : 

"  I  know  a  girl  who  was  left  in  the  cars  somewhere  in  Ohio 
almost  nineteen  years  ago ;  —  left  with  a  young  boy,  and  the 
mother,  who  took  the  train  at  Cincinnati,  never  came  back,  and 
he  could  not  find  her.  He  thinks  she  was  crazy.  She  had 
very  black  hair  and  eyes,  he  said,  and  was  dressed  in  mourning. 
Perhaps  it  was  Mrs.  Grey.  Did  she  come  from  Cincinnati 
about  that  time  ?  It  was  April,  18 — ,  when  the  baby  I  mean 
was  left  in  the  cars." 

Mrs.  Seymour  was  surprised  out  of  her  usual  reserve,  and 
when  Magdalen  paused  for  her  reply,  she  said  : 

"My  brother's  wife  came  from  Cincinnati  in  May,  not 
April ;  but  we  thought  she  had  been  a  long  time  on  the  road. 
As  to  its  being  18 — ,  I'm  not  so  sure;  but  it  was  nineteen 


300  MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN. 

years  ago  in  May,  I  know,  for  husband  died  the  next  July,  and 
mother  the  winter  after." 

"  And  what  of  the  child  ?  And  how  did  it  happen  that  Mrs. 
Grey  was  left  to  travel  alone  ?  Where  had  she  been,  and  where 
was  Mr.  Grey  ?  "  Magdalen  asked,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  replied, 
'•'  My  brother  was  in  Europe,  —  sent  there  by  unhappy  do 
mestic  troubles  at  home.  Laura  had  been  in  Cincinnati,  and 
came  back  to  Beechwood  after  the  death  of  her  mother  and 
the  child,  of  whose  birth  we  had  never  heard." 

"  Never  heard  of  its  birth  !  "  Magdalen  exclaimed.  "  Then, 
perhaps,  you  do  not  know  certainly  of  its  death.  She  says  she 
'eft  it  in  the  cars  with  a  boy,  and  Roger  was  a  boy  ;  the  child 
i  told  you  of  was  left  with  him." 

"  Who  was  that  child,  and  where  is  she  ? "  Mrs.  Seymour 
asked,  and  Magdalen  replied,  "/am  that  child,  and  didn't  you 
say  I  reminded  you  of  some  one.  Didn't  Guy  and  Alice  and 
your  brother  say  the  same ;  and  I,  too,  can  see  the  resemblance 
to  that  crazy  woman  in  myself." 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  as  she  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Sey 
mour  her  head  poised  itself  upon  one  side  just  as  Laura's  had 
done  a  thousand  times  in  the  days  gone  by.  Mrs.  Seymour  was 
interested  now ;  that  familiar  look  in  Magdalen's  face  had  always 
puzzled  her,  and  as  she  saw  her  flushed,  and  excited,  and  eager, 
she  was  struck  with  the  strong  resemblance  she  bore  to  Laura 
as  she  was  when  she  first  came  to  Beechwood,  and  more  to  her 
self  than  to  Magdalen  she  said  : 

"  It  is  very  strange,  but  still  it  cannot  be,  —  though  that  child 
business  was  always  more  or  less  a  mystery  to  me.  Miss  Len 
nox,"  and  she  turned  to  Magdalen,  "  would  you  mind  telling 
me  the  particulars  of  your  having  been  left  in  the  car  ?  " 

Very  rapidly  Magdalen  repeated  the  story  of  her  desertion  as 
she  had  heard  it  from  Roger,  while  Mrs.  Seymour  listened 
intently  and  seemed  a  good  deal  moved  by  the  description 
given  of  the  mother. 

"  Was  there  nothing  about  you  by  which  you  might  be  identi 
fied  ?  That  is,  did  they  keep  no  article  of  dress  ?  "  she  asked, 


MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN.  30! 

and  Magdalen  sprang  up,  exclaiming,  "Yes,  —  the  dress  I  wore  • 
a  crimson  delaine,  dotted  with  black.  I  have  it  with  me  now." 

"A  crimson  delaine,  dotted  with  black,"  Mrs.  Seymoui 
repeated,  while  her  hands  began  to  tremble  nervously  and  her 
voice  to  grow  a  little  unsteady.  "There  was  such  a  dress  ir» 
Laura's  satchel ;  baby's  dress,  she  told  us,  and  Alice  has  it  in 
her  drawer." 

"  Get  it,  get  it,  and  we  will  compare  the  two,"  Magdalen 
cried,  and  seizing  Mrs.  Seymour's  hand  she  dragged  rather  than 
led  her  to  the  door  of  Alice's  room  ;  then,  going  hastily  to  her 
trunk,  she  took  from  it  the  dress  which  she  had  worn  to  Mill- 
bank.  "  Here  it  is,"  she  cried,  turning  to  Mrs.  Seymour,  who 
came  in  with  another  dress,  at  sight  of  which  Magdalen  uttered 
a  wild  exultant  cry,  while  every  particle  of  color  faded  from  Mrs. 
Seymour's  face,  and  her  eyes  wore  a  frightened  kind  of  look. 
The  dresses  were  alike !  The  same  material,  the  same  size, 
the  same  style,  except  that  Mrs.  Seymour's  was  low  in  the  neck, 
while  Magdalen's  was  high,  and  what  was  still  more  confirma 
tory  that  they  had  belonged  to  the  same  person,  the  buttons 
were  alike,  and  Magdalen  pointed  out  to  the  astonished  woman 
the  same  peculiarity  about  the  button  holes  and  a  portion  of 
the  work  upon  the  dresses.  The  person  who  made  them  must 
have  been  left-handed,  as  was  indicated  by  the  hems  where  left- 
handed  stitches  would  show  so  plainly. 

"  I  am  astonished,  I  am  confounded,  I  am  bewildered,  I  feel 
like  one  in  a  dream,"  Mrs.  Seymour  repeated  to  herself. 

Then  she  dropped  panting  into  a  chair,  and  wiping  the  per 
spiration  from  her  face,  continued  : 

"  The  coincidence  is  most  remarkable  ;  the  dresses  are  alike ; 
and  still  it  is  no  proof.  Was  there  nothing  else  ?  " 

"Yes.  Do  you  recognize  this?  Did  you  ever  see  it  be 
fore  ?  "  Magdalen  said,  holding  up  the  little  locket  which  had 
been  fastened  about  her  neck  when  she  came  to  Millbank. 

Mrs.  Seymour  took  it  in  her  hands  and  examined  it  closely, 
then  passed  it  back  with  the  remark,  "  I  never  saw  it  before,  to 
my  knowledge." 


302  MRS.    SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN. 

"But  the  initials,  'L.  G. '  —  did  you  notice  those?"  Magda 
len  continued,  and  then  Mrs.  Seymour  took  the  locket  again, 
and  glancing  at  the  lettering  whispered  rather  than  said  aloud  : 

"  'L.  G.'  That  stands  for  Laura  Grey.  It  may  be.  I  wish 
Arthur  was  here,  for  I  don't  know  what  to  think  or  do." 

"  You  can  at  least  tell  me  about  the  child,"  Magdalen  per 
sisted,  and  Mrs.  Seymour,  who  by  this  time  was  considerably 
shaken  out  of  her  usual  reticence  and  reserve,  replied,  "  Yes, 
I  can  do  that,  trusting  to  your  honor  as  a  lady  never  to  divulge 
what  I  may  tell  you  of  our  family  affairs.  My  brother  always 
had  a  penchant  for  pretty  faces,  and  while  he  was  young  had 
several  affairs  du  cceur  which  came  to  nothing.  When  he  was 
forty,  or  thereabouts,  he  went  to  Cincinnati,  where  he  stayed  a 
long  time,  and  at  last  startled  us  with  the  announcement  of  his 
marriage  with  Laura  Clayton,  a  young  girl  of  seventeen,  whose 
beauty,  he  said,  surpassed  anything  he  had  ever  seen.  She 
was  not  of  high  blood,  as  we  held  blood,  he  wrote,  but  she  was 
wholly  respectable,  and  pure,  and  sweet,  and  tolerably  well 
educated,  and  he  wanted  us  to  lay  aside  our  prejudices  and 
receive  her  as  his  wife  should  be  received.  I  was  in  favor  of 
doing  so,  though  perhaps  this  feeling  was  owing  in  part  to  my 
husband's  sensible  reasoning  and  partly  to  the  fact  that  I  did 
did  not  live  here  then  and  would  not  be  obliged  to  come  in 
daily  contact  with  her.  My  home  was  in  New  York,  and  so  I 
only  heard  from  time  to  time  of  the  doings  at  Beech  wood.  It 
transpired  afterward  that  Laura's  mother  was  a  widow,  who 
lived  much  by  herself,  without  relatives  and  only  a  few  ac 
quaintances.  She  had  come  from  New  Orleans  the  year  before, 
and  bought  a  house  and  quite  a  large  lot  of  land  in  the 
suburbs  of  Cincinnati.  There  was  Spanish  blood  in  her  veins, 
and  it  shows  itself  in  Laura.  The  mother  did  some  plain 
sewing  for  Arthur,  who  in  that  way  saw  the  daughter  and  finally 
married  her  against  her  mother's  wishes.  I  think  Mrs.  Clayton 
was  a  sensible  woman,  or  perhaps  she  feared  that  Arthur  only 
sought  her  daughter's  ruin ;  for  she  tried  to  keep  them  apart, 
and  so  made  the  matter  worse  and  drove  them  into  a  clandes- 


MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN.  303 

tine  marriage.  Mother  and  sister  Clarissa  were  here  then. 
Clarissa  was  never  married,  and  from  her  I  learned  the  most  I 
know  about  the  trouble.  She  deeply  regretted  afterward  the 
course  they  pursued  toward  Laura,  whom  they  did  not  under 
stand,  and  whose  life  they  made  so  wretched  with  their  coldness 
and  pride.  She  was  naturally  high-spirited,  but  she  bore  patiently 
for  a  long  time  whatever  they  laid  upon  her  and  tried,  I  believe, 
to  please  them  in  all  things.  Clarissa  herself  told  me  that  the  girl 
never  really  turned  upon  them,  except  as  her  eyes  would  some 
times  blaze  with  anger,  until  Alice  was  born,  and  mother  wanted 
her  put  out  to  a  wet  nurse,  who  lived  so  far  away  that  for  Laura 
to  see  her  baby  every  day  was  impossible.  Then  she  rebelled 
openly,  and  there  was  a  terrible  scene,  but  mother  carried  her 
point,  as  she  usually  did  when  she  had  Arthur  where  she  could 
talk  to  him.  Laura  fought  like  a  tigress  when  the  last  moment 
came,  and  mother  took  the  baby  from  her  by  force,  and  then 
locked  her  in  her  room  for  fear  she  would  go  down  to  the 
river  and  drown  herself,  as  she  threatened  to  do.  Arthur  was 
in  New  York,  or  I  think  he  would  have  interfered  when  he  saw 
how  it  affected  Laura.  I  was  sorry  for  the  poor  girl  when  I 
heard  of  it  from  Clarissa.  I  had  lost  a  dear  little  baby  and 
could  sympathize  with  Laura.  I  think  it  makes  a  woman 
harder  and  less  considerate  not  to  have  a  husband  or  children 
of  her  own,  and  Clarissa  had  neither." 

Mrs.  Seymour  forgot  that  her  mother  had  both  husband  and 
children,  and  that  therefore  the  thing  which  would  excuse  Cla 
rissa  could  not  be  applied  to  her.  But  Magdalen  did  not  for 
get  it,  and  her  fists  were  involuntarily  clinched  as  if  to  smite 
the  hard  old  woman  who  had  torn  Laura's  baby  from  her. 

"  Does  Alice  know  this  ?  "  she  asked,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  re 
plied,  "  She  does  not,  of  course.  There  could  be  no  reason 
for  harrowing  up  her  feelings  with  a  recital  of  the  past,  and  I 
hardly  know  why  I  am  telling  you  the  story  so  fully  as  I  am." 

"  Never  mind,  go  on  ; "  Magdalen  exclaimed  eagerly,  and 
Mrs.  Seymour  continued  : 

"  After  the  baby  went  away  a  kind  of  melancholy  mood  came 


3O4  MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN. 

over  Laura  and  she  would  sit  for  hours  and  even  days  without 
speaking  to  any  one  ;  then  she  would  have  fits  of  crying,  and 
again  was  irritable  and  quarrelsome,  so  that  it  was  a  trial  to 
live  with  her.  After  two  or  three  months  she  ceased  to  speak 
of  her  child,  and  when  Arthur  offered  to  take  her  to  see  it  flew 
into  so  fierce  a  passion  that  he  took  the  next  train  to  New 
York  and  left  her  with  mother. 

"  It  was  a  habit  of  his  to  go  away  from  anything  disagreeable, 
and  most  of  his  time  was  spent  from  home.  He  was  always 
very  fickle.  To  possess  a  thing  was  equivalent  to  his  tiring  of 
it.  and  even  before  Alice's  birth  he  was  weary  of  his  young 
wife ;  and  so  matters  went  on  from  bad  to  worse  till  Alice  was 
nearly  a  year  old,  and  Arthur  began  to  talk  of  going  abroad, 
while  Laura  proposed  a  separation,  or  that  she  should  be  al 
lowed  to  go  to  Cincinnati  while  her  husband  was  away.  They 
would  all  be  happier,  she  said  ;  and  his  mother  and  Clarissa 
favored  the  plan.  Arthur  consented,  and  went  with  her  him 
self  to  Cincinnati,  and  settled  a  yearly  allowance  upon  her, 
and  at  her  mother's  request  bought  three  or  four  vacant 
lots  which  adjoined  hers  and  were  for  sale,  and  which  she 
wanted  to  hold  so  as  to  prevent  shanties  from  being  built  upon 
them." 

"And  didn't  Mrs.  Grey  see  her  baby  before  she  went?" 
Magdalen  asked,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  replied  : 

"Yes,  once.  It  was  brought  to  the  house,  but  she  took 
little  notice  of  it,  and  said  it  belonged  to  the  Greys,  not  to  her. 
We  think  now  she  was  crazy  then,  though  they  did  not  suspect 
it  at  the  time.  She  expressed  no  regret  whatever  when 
Arthur  left  her,  but  on  the  contrary  seemed  relieved  to  have 
him  go.  He  sailed  for  Europe  the  next  week,  and  was  gone  a 
year  and  a  half,  or  more.  Laura  wrote  to  him  quite  regularly 
at  first,  but  never  held  any  communication  with  Beechwood. 
After  a  while  there  was  a  break  in  her  letters,  and  when  at  last 
she  wrote  she  told  him  something  of  which  he  had  no  suspicion 
at  the  time  of  his  leaving  home.  He  ought  to  have  come  back 
to  her  then,  but  he  did  not,  though  he  sent  her  money  and  ad- 


MRS.    SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN.  303 

vised  her  to  return  to  Beechwood.  This  she  would  not  do. 
She  preferred  to  stay  with  her  mother,  she  said  ;  and  he  heard 
no  more  from  her  for  three  or  four  months,  when  she  wrote  a 
few  hurried  lines,  telling  him  her  baby  Madeline  died  when  she 
was  four  weeks  old,  and  adding  that  she  presumed  he  would 
not  care,  as  it  would  save  him  the  trouble  of  taking  the  child 
from  her  as  he  had  taken  Alice.  That  roused  him  a  little  to  a 
sense  of  his  duty,  and  he  wrote  kindly  to  her  and  told  her  he 
was  sorry,  and  advised  her  again  to  return  to  Beechwood,  where 
he  said  he  would  join  her.  To  this  she  did  not  reply  for  a  long 
time,  and  when  at  last  she  wrote  she  said  that  her  mother  was 
dead,  and  that  after  visiting  a  friend  she  was  going  back  to 
Beechwood.  The  next  he  heard  from  her  she  was  here  at 
Beechwood,  where  she  had  arrived  wholly  unexpected  by 
mother  and  Clarissa,  who  did  not  know  that  she  was  coming, 
and  who  judged  that  she  must  have  been  weeks  on  the  road. 
Her  baggage  was  lost,  and  she  had  nothing  with  her  but  a 
little  satchel,  in  which  was  a  child's  dress  and  a  few  other 
articles.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  told  them  her 
mother  was  dead,  but  said  nothing  of  the  child  of  whose  birth 
they  had  never  heard,  she  having  insisted  that  Arthur  should 
not  tell  them  of  it.  She  was  very  quiet  for  a  few  days,  never 
speaking  unless  spoken  to,  and  then  she  did  not  always  answer. 
Occasionally  they  heard  her  muttering  to  herself,  '  One  is 
dead,  and  one  is  safe.  They  will  never  find  it,  —  never,'  but 
what  she  meant,  they  could  not  guess. 

"Alice  was  spending  a  few  days  with  her  foster-mother  up 
the  river,  and  did  not  return  till  Laura  had  been  home  a 
week.  In  all  that  time  she  had  never  mentioned  her  child,  and 
when  at  last  she  came,  and  Clarissa  said  to  her,  '  Your  baby  is 
here,  Laura.  Would  you  like  to  see  her  ?  '  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  and  her  eyes  glared  like  a  maniac's. 

"  '  Baby  was  hid,'  she  said.  '  Baby  was  gone  where  they 
could  not  find  it.' 

"  Then  her  mood  changed,  and  she  raved  for  the  baby  till 
Mice  was  brought  to  her  ;  but  that  only  made  her  worse,  and 


306  MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN. 

she  became  perfectly  furious,  telling  them  this  was  not  th« 
baby  whom  she  had  lost,  and  whom  she  insisted  upon  their 
finding. 

"  Clarissa  wrote  at  once  to  Arthur,  who  hastened  home,  find 
ing  his  mother  and  sister  at  their  wit's  end,  and  his  wife  raving 
mad,  and  calling  continually  for  the  baby  she  had  lost,  or  hid. 
That  was  her  constant  theme  —  '  lost,  or  hid,  or  left  some 
where.'  Arthur  did  his  best  to  soothe  her,  telling  her  the 
baby  was  dead,  and  asking  if  she  did  not  remember  writing  to 
him  about  it.  But  it  did  no  good.  Her  reply  was  always  the 
same  :  '  One  is  dead,  and  one  is  not.' 

"  For  hours  she  would  sit  repeating  these  words  in  a  kind  of 
moaning,  half  sobbing  way,  '  one  is  dead,  and  one  is  not ; '  and 
never  from  that  time  has  she  known  a  rational  moment.  Hunt 
ing  out  Alice's  cradle,  she  took  it  to  her  room,  and  rocked  it  day 
and  night,  saying  her  lost  baby  was  in  it,  and  raving  fearfully  if 
the  family  made  a  noise  in  the  room. 

"  This  annoyed  Arthur  terribly.  He  likes  quiet,  and  ease,  and 
luxury,  and,  as  he  could  not  have  these  in  his  own  house,  he 
sought  them  elsewhere,  and  has  travelled  almost  over  the  world. 
Twice  Laura  has  been  in  a  private  asylum.  She  was  there  all 
the  time  we  were  abroad ;  but  after  our  return  Alice  begged  so 
hard  for  her  to  be  allowed  to  come  to  Beechwood,  that  Arthur 
brought  her  back,  and  will  never  move  her  again. 

"Mother  died  the  winter  after  Laura's  return,  and  Clarissa 
the  year  following.  As  my  husband  was  dead,  and  I  alone  in 
the  world,  I  came  here  to  care  for  my  brother  and  Alice.  Pooi 
girl !  Her  life  has  been  a  sad  one,  though  she  knows  nothing, 
or  comparatively  nothing,  of  the  early  domestic  trouble  be 
tween  her  parents,  and  how  her  mother  was  received  at  Beech- 
wood." 

Mrs.  Seymour  paused  here,  and  Magdalen,  who  had  lis 
tened  eagerly,  asked,  "  If  that  child  which  died  when  it  was  four 
week  sold  had  lived,  how  old  would  it  have  been  when  Mr.  Grey 
came  home  ?  " 

Mjs.  Seymour  could  hardly  tell,  for  the  reason  that  in  hei 


MRS.   SEYMOUR  AND  MAGDALEN.  307 

letter  to  her  husband  Laura  did  not  give  the  date  of  its  birth, 
but  as  nearly  as  they  could  judge  it  must  have  been  nine  01 
ten  months  old,  possibly  more. 

"  Yes,"  Magdalen  said  ;  "  and  the  dress  in  the  satchel,  —  did 
it  never  occur  to  you  that  it  could  not  have  been  made  for  a 
four  weeks'  old  baby.  It  was  meant  for  a  larger  child.  And  did 
you  never  think  there  might  be  a  meaning  in  the  words,  '  One 
is  dead,  and  one  is  not,'  Mrs.  Seymour?"  and  Magdalen  grew 
more  earnest  and  vehement.  "There  must  have  been  two 
children  instead  of  one, — twins,  one  of  whom  died  and  the 
other  she  left  in  the  cars.  I  know  it,  I  believe  it.  I  shall  prove 
it  yet.  She  has  always  talked  to  me  of  two,  and  one  she  said 
was  Madeline  and  one  was  Magdalen,  and  Mr.  Irving  told  me 
that  the  woman  in  the  cars  called  me  something  which  sounded 
like  Magdalen.  Don't  you  see  it?  Can't  you  understand  how 
it  all  might  be?" 

Mrs.  Seymour  was  confounded  and  bewildered,  and  answered 
faintly,  "  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  I  wish  Arthur  was  here." 

"  I  am  going  to  him,"  Magdalen  exclaimed,  starting  to  her 
feet,  —  "  going  at  once,  and  have  him  help  me  solve  this  mystery. 
Alice  must  not  know  till  I  come  back,  and  not  then,  if  I  fail.  I 
shall  start  for  Cincinnati  to-morrow.  A  woman  can  oftentimes 
find  out  things  which  a  man  cannot.  Do  you  think  your  nephew 
will  go  with  me  ?  " 

She  talked  so  fast,  and  with  so  much  assurance,  that  Mrs.  Sey 
mour  was  insensibly  won  to  think  as  she  did  and  assent  to  what 
ever  she  suggested ;  and  the  result  was  that  in  less  than  half  an 
hour's  time  Guy,  who  had  been  invited  up  to  Magdalen's  room, 
had  heard  the  whole  of  the  strange  story.  He  believed  it,  and  in 
dorsed  Magdalen  at  once,  and  hurrahed  for  his  new  cousin,  and 
winding  his  arm  around  her  waist  waltzed  with  her  across  the 
room,  upsetting  his  Aunt  Pen's  work-basket,  and  when  she  re 
monstrated  he  caught  her  in  his  other  arm  and  took  her  with  him 
in  his  mad  dance.  Exhausted,  panting,  and  half  indignant  at  her 
scape-grace  nephew,  Auntie  Pen  released  herself  from  his  grasp, 
and  after  a  time  Magdalen  succeeded  in  stopping  him,  but  ha 


308  IN  CINCINNATI. 

kept  fast  hold  of  her  hands,  while  she  explained  what  she  want  ad 
of  him,  and  asked  if  he  would  go  with  her. 

"  Go  with  you  ?  Yes,  the  world  over,  ma  belle  cousin,"  he 
said,  and  greatly  to  the  horror  of  prim  Mrs.  Penelope,  he  sealed 
his  promise  to  serve  her  with  a  kiss  upon  her  brow. 

Mrs.  Seymour  was  shocked,  and  half  doubted  the  propriety 
of  sending  Magdalen  off  alone  with  Guy ;  but  Magdalen  knew 
the  kiss  was  given  to  Alice  as  her  possible  sister  rather  than  to 
herself,  and  so  did  not  resent  it. 

They  were  to  start  the  next  day,  but  it  was  not  thought  best 
to  let  Alice  know  of  the  journey  until  morning.  Then  they 
told  her  that  a  matter  of  importance,  which  had  recently  come 
to  Magdalen's  knowledge,  made  it  necessary  for  her  to  go  to 
Cincinnati,  and  that  Guy  was  going  with  her.  Alice  knew 
they  were  keeping  something  from  her,  but  would  not  question 
them,  and  without  a  suspicion  of  the  truth  she  bade  Magdalen 
and  Guy  good-by,  and  saw  them  start  on  their  journey  to  Cin 
cinnati. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

IN  CINCINNATI. 

j|R.  GREY  was  breakfasting  in  that  leisurely,  luxurious 
kind  of  way  which  he  enjoyed  so  thoroughly.  His 
morning  papers  were  on  the  table  beside  him.  He 
had  glanced  them  through,  and  read  every  word  in  them  about 
poor  Laura's  property,  which  was  now  secured  to  her  and  her 
heirs  forever.  He  had  succeeded  in  making  his  claim  clear, 
and  Laura  and  her  heirs  were  richer  by  some  thirty  thousand 
dollars  than  they  were  when  last  the  crazy  woman  was  in  the 
city.  To  a  man  with  nearly  half  a  million  thirty  thousand 
dollars  were  not  so  very  much ;  but  Mr.  Grey  was  glad  to  get 
it,  and  had  decided  that  it  should  be  invested  for  Alice,  just  as 


IN  CINCINNATI.  309 

his  breakfast  appeared,  and  in  dispatching  that,  he  forgot  the 
city  lots  and  houses,  and  the  days  when  he  had  gone  so  often 
to  one  of  them,  now  a  long  time  torn  down  to  make  room  foi 
a  large  and  handsome  block.  He  had  finished  his  first  cup  of 
coffee,  and  was  waiting  for  his  second,  when  a  hand  was  laid 
familiarly  upon  his  shoulder,  and  Guy  Seymour's  handsome  face 
confronted  him. 

"  Why,  Guy,  how  you  frightened  me  !  "  he  said.  "  Where 
did  you  come  from  ?  Is  anything  the  matter  at  home  ?  Is  it 
Alice  ?  " 

She  was  nearest  his  heart,  and  he  asked  for  her  first,  while 
his  cheek  paled  for  a  moment ;  but  Guy  quickly  reassured  him. 

There  was  nothing  the  matter  with  Alice  ;  nothing  the  matter 
with  any  one,  he  said.  He  had  come  on  business,  and  as  soon 
as  Mr.  Grey  was  through  with  his  breakfast  he  would  like  to 
see  him  alone.  Then  Mr.  Grey  proceeded  with  his  coffee  and 
mutton  chop,  and  omelette  and  hot  cakes,  and  Guy  grew  terri 
bly  impatient  and  nervous  with  waiting.  Mr.  Grey's  appetite 
was  satisfied  at  last,  and  he  invited  Guy  to  his  room  and  asked 
what  he  could  do  for  him.  Guy  had  the  story  at  his  tongue's 
end.  He  had  repeated  it  to  himself  several  times  so  as  to  be 
sure  and  make  himself  understood,  and  after  half  an  hour  or  so 
he  was  understood,  and  Mr.  Grey  knew  why  he  was  there,  and 
who  was  with  him.  To  say  that  he  was  startled  would  convey 
but  a  faint  idea  of  the  effect  Guy's  story  had  upon  him. 
Laura's  ravings  about  "  the  one  that  was  dead  and  the  one  that 
was  not,"  had  come  back  to  him  with  a  new  meaning  and  helped 
to  prove  the  twin  theory  correct,  and  he  was  struck  dumb  with 
amazement,  and  tried  in  vain  to  speak  as  some  question  he 
wished  to  ask  presented  itself  to  his  mind.  He  could  not 
speak,  his  tongue  was  so  thick  and  lay  so  heavy  in  his  mouth, 
while  the  blood  rushed  in  such  torrents  to  his  head  and  face 
that  he  plucked  at  his  cravat  as  if  to  tear  it  off,  so  he  could  breath 
more  freely,  and  made  a  motion  toward  the  window  for  air. 

"  Apoplexy,  it  has  almost  given  me  that,"  he  whispered  as 
the  fresh  air  blew  gratefully  upon  him,  and  he  drank  the  water 


310  IN  CINCINNATI. 

Guy  brought  to  him.  Then  leaning  his  head  against  the  back 
of  his  chair,  he  said  :  "I  am  greatly  shocked  by  this  story  you 
have  told  me.  It  seems  reasonable  and  may  be  true,  though 
I  do  not  deserve  it.  I've  been  a  villain,  a  rascal.  I  abused 
and  neglected  Laura ;  I  ought  to  have  come  home  when  she  first 
wrote  about  the  baby,  and  should  have  done  so  but  for  that 
devilish  trait  of  mine,  to  follow  a  pretty  face.  I  had  an  Ital 
ian  woman  in  tow  and  it  blunted  every  other  feeling,  and  when 
I  heard  the  child  was  dead  I  did  not  care  so  very  much,  though 
I  wrote  to  her  kindly  enough  ;  and  now,  to  have  this  great  good 
come  so  suddenly  upon  me  is  too  much,  —  too  much,"  — 

Guy  believed  in  Magdalen,  and  his  belief  had  so  colored  his 
story  that  Mr.  Grey  believed  in  her,  too,  at  first.  Then  a  doubt 
began  to  creep  into  his  mind,  as  was  very  natural,  and  he 
asked,  "  Where  is  she,  and  how  does  she  propose  to  prove  it  ?  " 

"  She  is  in  No.  — .  She  wishes  to  see  you  first.  Will  you  go 
to  her  now  ?  "  Guy  said  ;  and  Mr.  Grey  arose,  and  leaning  on 
Guy  started  for  the  room  where  Magdalen  was  waiting  for  him. 

When  the  first  great  shock  came  upon  her  Magdalen  had 
thought  only  of  Alice,  the  darling  sister  it  might  be,  and  of  the 
poor  worn-out  wreck  which,  though  a  wreck,  might  be  her 
mother  still,  and  her  heart  had  gone  out  after  them  both  and 
enfolded  them  with  all  a  daughter's  and  sister's  love,  but  in  this 
sudden  gush  of  affection  Mr.  Grey  had  had  little  part.  So 
great  had  her  excitement  been,  and  so  rapidly  had  she  acted 
upon  her  convictions,  that  she  had  scarcely  thought  of  him  in 
any  other  capacity  than  that  of  her  employer.  But  as  she  sat 
waiting  for  him,  there  suddenly  swept  over  her  the  conscious 
ness  that  if  what  she  hoped  was  true,  then  he  was  her  own 
father,  and  for  a  moment  she  rebelled  against  it  as  against 
some  impending  evil. 

"  Roger  is  his  sworn  enemy,"  she  whispered  faintly,  as  hei 
mind  went  back  to  the  time  when  Roger  had  cursed  him  as  his 
mother's  ruin.  "  Roger  will  never  forgive  my  being  his  daugh 
ter,"  she  thought,  and  for  an  instant  she  wished  she  had  nevei 
told  her  suspicions  to  a  human  being,  but  had  kept  them  locked 


IN  CINCINNATI.  311 

in  her  own  bosom.  Then  she  thought  of  Alice,  and  that  com 
forted  her,  and  made  her  calm  and  composed  when  she  heard 
the  knock  at  her  door  and  saw  Guy  coming  in  with  Mr.  Grey. 

He  was  very  pale,  and  came  toward  her,  with  an  eager, 
questioning  look  in  his  eyes,  which  scanned  her  curiously. 
She  had  risen,  and  was  standing  with  her  hands  locked  to 
gether,  her  head  unconsciously  poised  upon  one  side,  and  hei 
body  bent  slightly  forward.  It  was  Laura's  attitude  exactly , 
Laura  had  stood  just  this  way  that  night  she  met  him  outside 
her  mother's  house  and  he  persuaded  her  to  the  clandestine 
marriage.  Save  that  there  was  about  Magdalen  more  refine 
ment,  more  culture,  and  a  softer  style  of  beauty  than  had  ever 
belonged  to  Laura  Clayton,  he  could  have  sworn  it  was  the 
Laura  of  his  mature  manhood's  love,  or  passion,  who  stood 
upon  the  rug  by  the  fire,  her  dark  eyes  meeting  his  with  a  wist 
ful,  earnest  gaze.  In  an  instant  the  forgot  his  doubts ;  — 
his  faith  was  strong  as  Guy's,  and  he  reached  his  arms  toward 
her,  and  his  lips  quivered  as  he  said  : 

"You  are  so  much  like  Laura  that  you  must  be  my  child." 

She  knew  he  expected  her  to  go  to  him,  but  Jessie  and  Laura, 
and  the  uncertainty  as  to  herself  and  his  right  to  claim  her,  rose 
up  a  mighty  barrier  between  them,  and  she  made  no  movement 
towards  him  ;  she  only  said : 

"  It  is  not  sure  that  I  am  your  child.  We  must  prove  it  be 
yond  a  doubt,"  and  in  her  voice  there  was  a  tone  which  Mr. 
Grey  understood. 

She  knew  Laura's  story.  Penelope  had  told  her,  and  she  re 
sented  the  injury  done  to  one  who  might  be  her  mother.  It 
was  a  part  of  his  punishment,  and  he  accepted  it,  and  put  down 
the  tenderness  and  love  which  kept  growing  in  his  heart  for  the 
beautiful  girl  before  him. 

"  No,  it  is  not  proved,"  he  said,  "though  I  trust  that  it  may 
be.  Tell  me,  please,  your  own  story  as  you  have  heard  it  from 
Mr.  Irving,  and  also  what  you  wish  me  to  do." 

He  had  heard  the  whole  from  Guy,  but  the  story  gained  new 
force  and  reality  as  told  by  Magdalen,  whose  eyes  and  face  and 


312  IN  CINCINNATI. 

gestutes  grew  each  moment  more  and  more  like  Laura  Clayton 
as  she  was  years  ago.  Guy  had  forgotten  the  locket,  but  Mag 
dalen  did  not,  and  she  showed  it  to  Mr.  Grey,  who  examined  it 
closely,  then  staggered  a  step  or  two  toward  her,  and  steadied 
himself  against  the  mantel,  as  he  said  : 

"  It  was  Laura' s.  I  remember  it  perfectly  and  where  I  bought 
it,  I  gave  it  to  her  myself.  My  likeness  was  in  it  then.  You 
see  it  has  been  taken  out,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  inside  of  the 
ornament  from  which  a  picture  had  evidently  been  removed. 
"  Magdalen.  I  do  not  need  stronger  proof.  Will  you  let  me  call 
you  daughter?" 

The  tears  were  streaming  down  his  face,  and  Magdalen  felt 
herself  beginning  to  relent,  but  there  must  be  no  mistake,  — no 
shadow  on  which  to  build  a  doubt  hereafter.  She  could  not 
take  her  place  in  the  hearts  of  that  family  as  a  rightful  daugh 
ter  of  the  house  and  then  suddenly  be  displaced  by  some  other 
claimant.  She  must  know  to  a  certainty  that  she  was  Magda 
len  Grey,  and  she  replied  : 

"  I  am  not  satisfied ;  we  must  investigate  farther  than  we  have. 
Your  wife  talked  of  a  Mrs.  Storms  who  was  sponsor  for  her 
baby.  Did  you  ever  know  it  was  baptized  ?  Did  she  write 
you  to  that  effect  ?  " 

"  Never.  She  only  said  that  baby  Madeline  was  dead,"  Mr. 
Grey  replied,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  Magdalen  con 
tinued,  "  Tell  me,  please,  if  you  ever  wished  to  give  Alice  another 
name  than  the  one  she  bears,  and  did  your  wife  oppose  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Grey's  face  was  scarlet,  but  he  answered  promptly,  — 

"  I  did  propose  calling  Alice  after  a  dear  friend  of  mine 
whose  second  name  was  Magdalen." 

"Then  Mrs.  Grey  was  right  so  far,"  Magdalen  rejoined,  "and 
may  have  been  correct  in  her  other  statements  to  me,  also. 
She  told  me  one  was  Madeline,  and  that  to  please  you  she 
called  the  other  "  Magdalen,"  after  the  friend  for  whom  you 
wished  Alice  named,  and  that  a  Mr.  and  Mi  5.  Storms  were 
sponsors.  Do  you  know  any  such  people?" 

Mr.  Grey  did  not,  and  Magdalen  continued  : 


IN  CINCINNATI.  313 

"We  must  find  them.  Is  it  of  any  use  to  inquire  in  the  vicin 
ity  where  Mrs.  Grey  once  lived?" 

"  None  whatever.  Every  house  has  been  pulled  down,  and 
every  family  is  gone,"  was  the  unpromising  answer,  but  Magda 
len  was  not  disheartened. 

"The  christening  must  have  been  in  church.  Can  you  tell 
which  one  it  was  likely  to  be  ?  " 

Mr.  Grey  thought  it  was  St.  Luke's,  as  Mrs.  Clayton  was  an 
attendant  there.  They  might 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  Magdalen  started  quickly, 
exclaiming : 

"  There  must  be  a  Parish  Register,  and  there  we  shall  find  it 
recorded,  and  possibly  trace  Mrs.  Storms.  Let  us  go  at  once 
to  the  Rectory,  if  there  is  one." 

Her  bonnet  and  shawl  were  on  in  a  trice,  a  carriage  was 
called,  and  the  three  were  soon  on  their  way  to  the  house  of 
the  Rev.  Henry  Fowler,  Rector  of  St.  Luke's.  He  was  a  young 
man,  who  had  only  been  there  for  a  year  or  two,  but  Magdalen's 
beauty  and  excitement  enlisted  his  sympathy  at  once,  and  he 
went  with  them  to  the  church  and  took  from  a  dusty  shelf  an 
old  worn-looking  volume,  wherein  he  said  was  recorded  the 
births,  deaths,  and  baptisms  of  twenty  and  twenty-five  years  ago. 
[t  was  Magdalen  who  took  the  book  in  her  own  hand  s,  and 
sitting  down  upon  the  chancel  steps  with  her  bonnet  falli  ng  back 
Tom  her  flushed  face  and  her  white  lips  compressed  together, 
:urned  the  pages  eagerly,  while  the  three  men  stood  looking  at 
ier.  Suddenly  she  gave  a  cry,  and  the  three  came  near  her. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  "  it's  here.  There  was  a  child  baptized," 
ind  she  pointed  to  the  record  of  the  baptism  of  "  Magdalen 
Laura,"  daughter  of  Arthur  and  Laura  Grey.  Sponsors,  "  Mr. 
ind  Mrs.  James  Storms,  Cynthiana,  Kentucky." 

Then  suddenly  a  cloud  passed  over  her  face  as  she  said  sadly, 
'  But  there  is  only  one.  Where  is  Madeline1?  " 

"  Turn  to  the  deaths,"  Guy  said,  and  with  trembling  fingers 
Vf  agdalen  did  as  he  bade  her,  but  found  no  trace  of  Madeline, 

Only  Mrs.  Clayton's  death  was  record^  there,  and  the  tear? 
H 


3H  IN  CYNTHIANA. 

gathered  in  Magdalen's  eyes  and  dropped  upon  the  register  aa 
she  felt  that  her  hopes  were  being  swept  away.  It  was  Guy  who 
comforted  and  reassured  her  by  suggesting  that  Madeline  might 
have  died  before  the  christening,  and  Magdalen  caught  eagerly 
at  it,  and  springing  up  exclaimed,  "  Yes,  and  they  neglected  to 
record  her  death ;  that's  it,  I  know ;  we  will  find  this  Mrs.  Storms ; 
we  will  go  at  once  to  Cynthiana.  Is  it  far  ?  Can  we  reach  it 
to-day?" 

It  was  not  very  far,  the  clergyman  said.  It  was  on  the  rail 
road  between  Cincinnati  and  Lexington,  but  he  did  not  believe 
she  could  go  that  day,  as  the  train  was  already  gone. 

It  seemed  an  age  to  wait  until  the  morrow,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it ;  and  Magdalen  passed  the  day  as  best  she  could,  and 
when  the  morning  came  and  they  started  for  Cynthiana,  she  was 
almost  sick  with  excitement,  which  increased  more  and  more  the 
nearer  she  drew  to  Mrs.  Storms,  who  was  to  confirm  her  hopes 
or  destroy  them  forever. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

IN   CYNTHIANA. 


GEORGE   P.  STORMS  &  CO., 

DEALERS   IN 

DRY   GOODS,  GROCERIES  &   PROVISIONS. 


1  HAT  was  the  sign  which  our  travellers  saw  after  landing 
at  the  station  in  the  little  town  of  Cynthiana.  Magda 
len  was  the  first  to  see  it,  and  the  first  to  enter  a  low 
room  where  a  young  man  of  twenty-five  or  more  was  weighing 
a  codfish  for  a  negress  with  a  blue  turban  bound  around  her 
head. 


IN  CYNTHIA NA.  315 

Magdalen  was  taking  the  lead  in  all  things,  and  Mr.  Grey 
and  Guy  let  her,  and  smiled  at  her  enthusiasm  and  the  effect 
she  produced  upon  the  young  man.  He  was  not  prepared  Coi 
this  apparition  of  beauty  in  so  striking  contrast  to  old  Hannah 
and  her  codfish,  and  he  blushed  and  stammered  in  his  reply  to 
her  question  as  to  whether  "  Mrs.  James  Storms  was  a  relative 
of  his,  and  lived  near  them." 

"  She  is  my  mother,  and  lives  just  down  the  street.  Did  you 
wish  to  see  her  ?  "  he  said,  and  Magdalen  replied : 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  if  she  is  the  Mrs.  Storms  I  am  after.  Is  she 
a  church  woman,  and  has  she  ever  been  in  Cincinnati  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  church  woman,  and  has  been  in  Cincinnati,"  the 
young  man  said,  and  then  he  followed  Magdalen  to  the  door 
and  pointed  a  second  time  to  his  mother's  house,  and  stood 
watching  her  as  she  sped  like  a  deer  along  the  muddy  street, 
leaving  Mr.  Grey  and  Guy  very  far  behind  her. 

A  very  respectable-looking  woman  answered  Magdalen'? 
knock,  and  inviting  her  to  enter,  stood  waiting  for  Mr.  Grey 
and  Guy,  who  had  just  reached  the  gate 

It  was  Magdalen  who  did  most  of  the  talking,  —  Magdalen 
who,  without  taking  the  chair  offered  her,  broke  out  impetu 
ously,  "  Are  you  Mrs.  James  Storms,  and  did  you  years  ago,  — 
say  nineteen  or  twenty  —  know  a  Mrs.  Clayton,  in  Cincinnati, 
and  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Grey,  —  Laura  they  called  her  ?  " 

The  woman,  who  seemed  to  be  naturally  a  lady,  cast  a  won 
dering  glance  at  Magdalen,  and  replied  : 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Storms,  and  I  knew  Laura  Clayton,  or  rather 
Mrs.  Grey.  Are  you  her  daughter  ?  You  look  like  her  as  I 
remember  her." 

Magdalen  did  not  answer  this  question,  but  went  on  vehe 
mently  : 

"  Were  you  much  with  Mrs.  Grey,  and  can  you  tell  me  any 
thing  about  her  starting  for  her  home  in  New  York,  and  if  she 
had  a  baby  then,  and  how  old  it  was,  and  what  dress  did  it 
wear  ?  Try  to  remember,  please,  and  tell  me  if  you  can." 

Mrs.  Storms  was  wholly  bewildered  with  all  these  interroga- 


316  IN  CYNTHIANA. 

tories  of  a  past  she  had  not  recalled  in  years,  and  looked 
inquiringly  at  Mr.  Grey,  who  was  standing  by  Magdalen,  and 
who  said  with  a  smile  : 

"Not  quite  so  fast.  You  confuse  the  woman  with  youi 
rapid  questions.  Ask  her  one  at  a  time  ;  or  perhaps  it  will  be 
better  for  me  to  explain  a  little  first." 

Then  as  briefly  as  possible  he  repeated  what  he  thought 
necessary  for  Mrs.  Storms  to  know  of  the  business  which  had 
brought  them  there,  and  asked  if  she  could  help  them  any. 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Storms  was  too  much  surprised  to  speak, 
and  stood  staring,  first  at  Magdalen  and  then  at  Mr.  Grey,  in  a 
dazed,  helpless  kind  of  way. 

"  Lost  her  baby,  —  the  little  child  I  stood  for  !  Didn't  have 
it  when  she  got  home,  nor  her  baggage  either !  it  takes  my 
breath  away  !  Of  course  she  was  crazy.  I  can  see  it  now, 
though  I  did  not  suspect  it  then.  I  only  thought  her  queer  at 
times." 

"  Yes,  but  tell  us ;  begin  at  the  beginning,"  Magdalen  ex 
claimed,  too  impatient  to  wait  any  longer.  And  thus  en 
treated,  Mrs.  Storms  began  : 

"  I  knew  Mrs.  Clayton  in  New  Orleans,  before  she  moved 
to  Cincinnati,  or  I  was  married  and  came  here.  I  had  seen 
Laura  when  a  little  girl,  but  did  not  know  much  of  her  until 
she  came  home  after  her  marriage.  Then  I  saw  her  every  time 
I  was  at  her  mother's,  which  was  quite  often,  considering  the 
distance  between  here  and  Cincinnati,  and  the  tedious  way  we 
had  then  of  getting  there  by  stage.  My  husband,  who  is  dea.d 
now,  and  myself  were  sponsors  for  her  baby,  whom  she  called 
Magdalen." 

"Was  there  one  or  two  children  ?  Tell  me  that  first,  please," 
Magdalen  said,  and  when  Mrs.  Storms  replied,  "She  had  two, 
but  one  died  before  it  was  christened,"  she  gave  a  sudden 
scream,  and  staggered  a  step  towards  Mr.  Grey,  who,  almost  as 
white  and  weak  as  herself,  laid  his  hand  with  a  convulsive 
grasp  upon  her  shoulder  and  said,  "Two  children  !  twins  !  and 
I  never  knew  it ! " 


IN  CYNTHIANA.  317 

"  Never  knew  it ! "  Mrs.  Storms  repeated.  "  I  wrote  it  to  you 
myself  the  day  after  they  were  born.  I  happened  to  be  there, 
and  Laura  asked  me  to  write  and  tell  you,  and  I  did,  and  di  • 
rected  my  letter  to  Rome." 

"  I  never  received  it,  which  is  not  strange,  as  I  journeyed  so 
much  from  place  to  place  and  had  my  mail  sent  after  me,"  Mr. 
Grey  rejoined,  and  Mrs.  Storms  continued,  "  I  remember  now 
that  after  my  letter  was  sent  Laura  grew  worse,  —  crazy  like, 
we  thought,  and  seemed  sorry  I  had  written,  and  said  the  Greys 
did  not  like  children  and  would  take  her  babies  from  her,  and 
when  the  little  sickly  one  died  she  did  not  seem  to  feel  so  very 
badly  and  said  it  was  safe  from  the  Greys.  She  was  always 
queer  on  that  subject,  though  she  never  said  a  word  against  her 
husband.  She  had  plenty  of  money,  and,  I  supposed,  was  going 
back  to  Beechwood  as  soon  as  you  returned.  I  was  not  with 
her  when  Mrs.  Clayton  died ;  it  was  sudden,  —  very,  and  I  only 
went  to  the  funeral.  Laura  told  me,  then,  she  was  going  home, 
but  said  she  wished  first  to  visit  me.  I  consented,  of  course, 
though^  I  wondered  that  she  did  not  go  at  once.  She  came  to 
me  after  the  funeral,  and  stayed  some  time  with  her  child,  and 
appeared  very  sad  and  depressed,  and  cried  a  great  deal  at 
times,  and  then,  again,  was  wild,  and  gay,  and  queer." 

"  But  the  child,  —  the  little  girl —  How  did  she  look  ?  "  Mag 
dalen  asked. 

And  Mrs.  Storms  replied  : 

"She  was  very  healthy  and  fat;  a  pretty  creature,  with 
dark  eyes,  like  her  mother's,  and  dark  hair  too.  A  beautiful 
baby  I  called  her,  who  might  easily  grow  to  be  just  like  you, 
miss." 

She  was  complimenting  Magdalen,  whose  face  flushed  a  little 
as  she  asked  : 

"  Do  you  remember  what  the  child  wore  when  she  went 
away  ?  Would  you  know  the  dress  if  you  saw  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Storms  hardly  thought  she  would.  Mrs.  Grey  was  in 
mourning,  but  about  the  baby  she  did  not  know. 

"  Was  the  dress   like  this  ?  "  Magdalen  asked,  taking  from 


318  IN  CYNTHIANA. 

her  satchel  the  dress  she  had  worn  to  Millbank,  and  the  on« 
found  in  Laura's  bag. 

Mrs.  Storms  looked  at  them  a  moment,  and  then  a  sudden 
pleam  of  intelligence  broke  over  her  face  as  she  exclaimed  : 

"  I  do  remember  them  perfectly  now.  I  made  them  myself 
for  Mrs.  Grey." 

"  And  you  are  left-handed  ?  "  interrupted  Magdalen. 

"Yes,  I  am  left-handed.  You  knew  that  by  the  hems? 
You  would  make  a  capital  lawyer,"  Mrs.  Storms  said,  laugh 
ingly.  Then,  excusing  herself  a  moment,  she  left  the  room, 
but  soon  returned,  bringing  a  patch-work  quilt,  made  from  bits 
of  delaine. 

Conspicuous  among  these  were  blocks  of  the  same  material 
as  the  two  spotted  dresses.  To  these  blocks  Mrs.  Storms 
called  Magdalen's  attention. 

"  I  had  a  baby  then,  a  boy,  Charlie,  he  is  dead  now,  and 
these  are  pieces  of  the  dress  Mrs.  Grey  gave  to  him.  She 
bought  enough  for  him  and  her  baby,  too,  and  I  made  them 
both  and  then  found  there  was  still  material  for  another,  pro 
vided  the  sleeves  were  short  and  the  neck  low.  So  I  made 
that  at  the  very  last,  and  as  Laura's  trunk  was  full  she  put  it  in 
her  satchel." 

Mr.  Grey's  hand  deepened  its  grasp  on  one  whom  he  now 
knew  to  be  his  child  beyond  a  doubt,  and  who  said  to  Mrs. 
3torms : 

"  Did  she  go  from  here  alone  to  Cincinnati,  and  about  what 
time?" 

"  It  was  in  April,  and  must  have  been  nineteen  years  ago. 
I  know  by  Charlie's  age.  I  had  hurt  my  ankle  and  Mr.  Storms 
was  going  with  her,  but  at  the  last  something  happened,  I  don't 
remember  what,  and  he  did  not  go.  She  said  a  great  many 
harsh  things  about  her  mother-in-law  and  sister,  and  about  their 
taking  her  baby  from  her,  and  the  night  before  she  went  was 
more  excited  than  I  ever  saw  her,  but  I  did  not  think  her  crazy. 
There  was  no  railroad  then,  and  she  went  by  stage,  and  from 
Cincinnati  sent  me  a  note  that  she  was  safejy  there  and 


Iff  CYNTHIANA.  319 

about  to  start  for  the  East.  I  wondered  a  little  she  never 
wrote  to  me,  but  fancied  she  was  with  her  grand  friends  and  in 
her  handsome  house  and  had  forgotten  poor  folks  like  us,  and  I 
would  not  write  first.  Then  I  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  pretty 
soon. 

"  Charlie  died,  and  Mr.  Storms'  lungs  gave  out,  and  I  went  to 
Florida  with  him  and  buried  him  there,  and  after  six  years  came 
back  to  Cynthiana.  So  you  see  there  was  a  good  deal  of  one 
thing  and  another  to  put  Laura  out  of  my  mind." 

Many  more  questions  were  asked  and  explanations  and  sug 
gestions  made  until  it  was  preposterous  for  Magdalen  to  re 
quire  more  testimony.  She  was  Mr.  Grey's  daughter,  —  she 
believed  it  now,  and  her  heart  throbbed  with  ecstasy  when  she 
remembered  Alice,  whom  she  already  loved  so  much.  There 
was  also  a  feeling  of  unutterable  tenderness  and  pity  for  the 
poor  crazy  woman  who  had  suddenly  come  up  in  the  capacity 
of  her  mother.  She  could,  aye,  she  did  love  her,  all  wrecked 
and  shattered  and  imbecile  as  she  was ;  but  she  could  not  so 
soon  respond  to  the  affection  which  showed  itself  in  every  linea 
ment  of  Mr.  Grey's  face  and  thrilled  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  as 
he  wound  his  arm  around  her  neck,  and  drawing  her  closely  to 
him  said,  with  deep  emotion  : 

"Magdalen,  my  daughter,  my  darling  child!  Heaven  has 
been  better  to  me  than  I  deserved." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  lips,  but  she  did  not  give  him  back 
any  answering  caress,  except  as  she  suffered  him  to  hold  her  in 
his  embrace.  He  felt  the  coldness  of  her  manner,  and  it  affected 
him  deeply,  but  there  was  no  opportunity  then  for  any  words 
upon  the  subject.  The  train  was  coming  which  would  take 
them  to  Cincinnati,  and  so  after  a  little  further  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Storms,  whom  Mr.  Grey  resolved  to  remember  in 
some  substantial  form,  they  bade  her  good-by  and  were  soon 
on  their  way  to  the  city. 


32O  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

FATHER  AND   DAUGHTER. 

HERE  was  no  longer  a  shadow  of  doubt  that  Mr. 
Grey  and  Magdalen  bore  to  each  other  the  relation  ol 
father  and  child.  He  had  been  satisfied  with  far  less 
testimony  than  Magdalen  required,  and  even  she  was  satisfied 
at  last,  though  she  suggested  the  propriety  of  ascertaining  from 
Roger  if  his  remembrances  of  the  woman  who  had  left  her  with 
him  tallied  with  Mrs.  Storms'  description  of  Mrs.  Grey  as  she 
was  when  she  left  Cynthiana.  To  this  Mr.  Grey  assented,  and 
proposed  that  as  personal  interviews  were  always  more  satis 
factory  than  letters,  Guy  should  go  to  Schodick,  leaving  himself 
and  Magdalen  to  rest  a  day  or  so  in  Cincinnati,  and  then 
return  to  Beechwood,  where  Guy  would  join  them  with  his 
report.  Magdalen  had  half  hoped  he  might  go  himself,  though 
she  knew  how  he  must  shrink  from  a  meeting  with  Roger  Ir 
ving,  and  mingled  with  her  happiness  in  having  found  both 
parents  and  sister  was  a  keen  sense  of  pain  as  she  thought  how 
the  gulf  between  herself  and  Roger  was  widened  by  the  dis 
covery  of  her  lineage. 

"  Roger  will  hate  me  now,  perhaps,"  she  said  to  herself,  when 
alone  in  her  room  at  the  hotel  she  sat  down  to  rest  and  tried  to 
realize  her  position. 

Guy  was  going  early  the  next  morning  before  she  was  up, 
and  if  she  would  send  any  message  to  Roger  it  must  be  written 
that  night.  Once  she  thought  to  write  him  a  long  letter,  beg 
ging  him  for  her  sake  and  Alice's,  whom  he  was  sure  to  love, 
to  forgive  her  father  all  the  wrong  he  had  done,  and  to  come  to 
them  at  Beechwood,  where  he  would  receive  a  cordial  welcome. 
But  after  a  moment's  reflection  she  felt  that  she  was  hardly 
warranted  in  writing  thus.  His  cordial  welcome  from  all  par 
ties  was  not  so  certain.  Mr.  Grey  had  not  intimated  a  wish  to 
sec  him  or  hinted  at  anything  like  gratitude  for  all  Roger  had 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER.  $21 

done  for  her.  It  would  be  pleasanter  both  for  Roger  and  her 
father  never  to  meet.  She  could  not  invite  hirn  to  Beechwood 
and  so  with  a  gush  of  tears  she  took  her  pen  and  wrote  to  him 

hastily : 

"  MR.  IRVING  :  Can  you  forgive  rne  when  you  hear  who  I 
am,  and  will  you  try  to  think  of  me  as  you  did  in  the  days 
which  now  seem  so  very  far  in  the  past.  I  have  been  your 
ruin,  Roger.  I  have  brought  to  you  almost  every  trouble  you 
ever  knew,  and  now  to  all  the  rest  I  must  add  this,  that  I  am 
the  child  of  your  worst  enemy,  Arthur  Grey.  Don't  hate  me 
for  it,  will  you  ?  Alice,  who  is  much  better  than  I,  would  say 
it  was  God's  way  of  letting  you  return  good  for  evil.  1  wish 
you  would  think  so,  too,  and  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  all  I  feel, 
and  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  what  you  have  done  for  me. 
If  I  could  I  would  repay  it,  but  I  am  only  a  girl,  and  the  debt 
is  too  great  ever  to  be  cancelled  by  me.  May  Heaven  reward 
you  as  you  deserve. 

"  Your  grateful  MAGDALEN. 

"  P.  S.  —  Mr.  Seymour  will  tell  you  the  particulars  of  my 
strange  story.  You  will  like  him.  There  is  not  a  drop  of 
Grey  blood  in  his  veins." 

This  was  Magdalen's  letter,  which  she  handed  to  Guy  in  her 
father's  presence  when  she  went  to  say  good-night  to  the  two 
gentlemen  in  the  parlor. 

"Will  you  write  to  Mr.  Irving,  too?"  she  asked  Mr.  Grey, 
who  shook  his  head,  while  a  look  of  embarrassment  and  pain 
flitted  across  his  face. 

"  Not  now,  —  some  time  perhaps  I  may.  I  am  truly  grateful 
to  him,  and  Guy  must  tell  him  so.  Guy  will  know  just  what  to 
say.  I  leave  it  in  his  hands." 

Mr.  Grey  was  not  quite  like  himself  that  night,  and  when 

next  morning  Magdalen  met  him  at  breakfast,  he   still  seemed 

abstracted  and  absent-minded,  and  but  little  inclined  to  talk. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  however,  he  went  with  her  to  her 

14* 


322  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

room,  and  sitting  down  beside  her  grasped  her  hands  in  his, 
and  said  : 

"  Magdalen,  my  child,  I  never  expected  to  see  this  day,  — • 
never  thought  there  was  so  much  happiness  in  store  for  me,  — 
a  happiness  I  have  not  deserved,  and  which  still  is  not  unmixed 
with  pain  and  humiliation.  Magdalen,  my  daughter,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  there  is  something  between  us  which  should  not  be 
between  a  father  and  his  child.  I  feel  it  in  your  manners,  and 
see  it  in  your  face,  and  hear  it  in  your  voice.  What  is  it, 
Magdalen  ?  " 

He  was  talking  very  kindly,  and  sadly  too,  and  the  tears 
glittered  in  Magdalen's  eyes,  but  she  did  not  reply.  She  could 
not  tell  him  all  the  hard  things  she  had  written  against  him  in 
her  heart,  before  she  knew  him  to  be  her  father,  but  he  guessed 
them  in  part,  and  continued : 

"  Penelope  told  you  something  of  your  mother's  story.  I 
wonder  if  she  told  you  all  ?  " 

"Yes,  all  that  I  ever  care  to  hear,"  Magdalen  replied.  "I 
know  of  her  clandestine  marriage,  her  wretched  life  at  Beech- 
wood,  of  their  taking  Alice  from  her,  and  of —  of  your  cruel 
neglect  of  her." 

She  said  the  last  hesitatingly,  for  there  was  something  in  the 
blue  eyes  fastened  upon  her  which  prevented  her  saying  as 
hard  things  as  she  felt. 

"Yes,  it's  all  true,  and  more,"  Mr.  Grey  replied.  "Penelope 
could  not  tell  you  as  bad  as  it  was,  for  she  never  knew  all.  I 
did  neglect  your  mother  when  she  needed  me  the  most.  I  liked 
my  ease.  I  could  not  endure  scenes.  I  was  afraid  of  mother. 
I  acted  a  coward's  part,  and  Laura  suffered  for  it.  She  was 
beautiful  once,  —  oh,  so  beautiful  when  I  first  met  her  in  her 
sweet  young  girlhood  !  She  was  much  like  you,  and  I  loved  her 
as  well  as  I  was  capable  of  loving  then.  I  had  been  thwarted 
and  crossed,  and  had  done  things  for  which  I  have  always  been 
sorry,  but  never  as  sorry  as  since  I  have  known  you  were  my 
child,  for  there  is  something  in  your  face  which  seems  contin 
ually  to  reproach  me  for  the  past,  and  until  I  have  made  you  my 


FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

confession,  I  feel  that  there  cannot  be  perfect  confidence  be 
tween  us.  I  think  I  had  seen  you  before  you  came  to  Beech 
wood." 

"  Yes,  in  Belvidere,  at  Mrs.  living's  grave,  though  I  did  not 
know  who  you  were.  I  had  not  heard  of  you  then" 

She  knew  about  Jessie,  —  Mr.  Grey  was  sure  of  that,  and  with 
something  between  a  sigh  and  a  groan,  he  said  : 

"  You  have  heard  of  that  sad  affair  too,  I  see ;  but  perhaps 
you  don't  know  all,  and  how  I  was  deceived." 

"Yes,  I  know  all.  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Irving' s  letter  —  the 
one  she  wrote  on  board  the  '  Sea  Gull,'  and  to  which  you 
added  a  postscript.  Mr.  Grey,  why  did  you  write  so  coldly  ? 
Why  did  you  express  no  sorrow  for  what  you  had  done  ?  Why 
did  you  leave  a  doubt  of  Jessie  to  sting  and  torment  poor 
Roger,  the  truest,  the  best  man  that  ever  lived  ?  " 

Magdalen  was  confronting  her  father  with  poor  Jessie's 
wrongs,  and  he  felt  that,  if  possible,  she  resented  them  more 
than  those  done  to  her  mother. 

"  I  was  a  fiend,  a  demon  in  those  days,"  he  said.  "  I  hated 
the  old  man  who  had  won  the  prize  I  coveted  so  much.  I  did 
not  care  how  deeply  I  wounded  him.  I  wanted  him  to  feel  as 
badly  as  I  felt  when  I  first  knew  I  had  lost  her.  I  was  angry 
with  fate,  which  had  thwarted  me  a  second  time  and  taken  her 
from  me  just  as  I  thought  possession  secure.  I  did  not  de 
spair  of  coaxing  her  to  go  with  me  at  last,  —  that  is,  I  hoped  I 
might,  for  I  knew  her  pliant  nature  ;  but  death  came  between 
us,  and  even  in  that  terrible  hour,  when  the  water  around  me 
was  full  of  drowning,  shrieking  wretches,  I  cursed  aloud  when 
I  saw  her  golden  hair  float  on  the  waves  far  beyond  my  reach, 
and  then  go  down  for  ever." 

He  shuddered  as  if  with  cold,  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then 
went  on  : 

"  I  loved  Jessie  Morton  as  I  have  never  loved  a  woman 
since,  not  even  your  mother.  I  went  to  Belvidere  just  because 
she  had  once  lived  there.  I  met  you  in  the  graveyard,  and 
ivas  struck  with  your  eyes,  which  reminded  me  of  Laura.  I 


324  FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER. 

never  dreamed  you  were  my  child,  but  I  was  interested  in  you, 
and  made  you  a  part  of  the  little  pencil  sketch  I  drew  of  the 
yard.  That  picture  has  often  excited  Alice's  curiosity,  for  it 
was  hung  in  my  room  at  home.  When  you  came  and  I  heard 
you  were  from  Millbank  I  hid  the  sketch  away,  lest  you  should 
see  it  and  recognize  the  place  and  wonder  how  I  came  by  it. 
You  see  I  am  telling  you  everything,  and  I  may  as  well  con 
fess  that  when  Penelope  told  me  you  were  from  Millbank  I 
wished  you  had  never  come  to  us.  We  usually  hate  what  we 
have  injured,  and  anything  connected  with  the  Irvings  has  been 
very  distasteful  to  me,  and  I  could  not  endure  to  hear  the 
name." 

"  But  you  would  like  Roger;  he  is  the  best,  the  noblest  of 
men ! "  Magdalen  exclaimed,  so  vehemently  that  her  father 
must  have  been  dull  indeed  if  he  had  failed  to  see  how  strong 
a  hold  Roger  Irving  had  on  Magdalen's  affections. 

He  did  see  it,  but  could  not  sympathize  with  her  then,  or  at 
once  lay  aside  all  his  olden  prejudice  against  the  Irvings,  and  it 
would  be  long  before  Magdalen  would  feel  that  in  her  love  for 
Roger  she  had  her  father's  cordial  sympathy. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  speak  truly,"  he  said,  "  and  some  time, 
perhaps,  I  may  see  him  and  tell  him  myself  that  his  mother 
was  pure,  and  good,  and  innocent  as  an  angel ;  but  now  I  wish 
to  talk  of  something  else,  to  tell  you  of  my  former  life,  so  you 
may  know  just  the  kind  of  father  you  have  found." 

Magdalen  would  rather  not  have  listened  to  the  story  which 
followed,  and  which  had  in  it  so  much  of  wrong,  but  there  was 
no  alternative.  Mr.  Grey  was  resolved  upon  a  full  confession, 
and  he  made  it,  and  when  the  recital  was  finished,  he  said : 

"  I  have  kept  nothing  from  you.  I  would  rather  you  should 
know  me  as  I  am.  I  have  told  you  what  I  could  never  tell  to 
Alice.  She  could  not  bear  it ;  but  you  are  different  Alice 
leans  on  me,  while  something  assures  me  that  I  can  lean  on 
you.  I  am  growing  old.  I  have  a  heavy  burden  to  bear.  I 
want  you  to  help  me  ;  want  you  to  trust  me  ;  to  love  me,  if  you 
can.  I  have  sinned  greatly  against  your  mother  ;  have  helped 


AT  BEECHWOOD.  325 

to  make  her  what  she  is.  But  I  have  tried  to  be  kind  to  he! 
these  many  years ;  and  I  ask  you,  her  child  and  mine,  to  for 
give  all  that  is  past  and  try  to  love  me,  if  only  ever  so  little. 
Will  you,  Magdalen?" 

He  held  his  hands  toward  her,  and  Magdalen  took  them  in 
hers,  and  by  the  kisses  and  tears  dropped  upon  them,  Arthur 
Grey  knew  that  there  was  a  better  understanding  between  him 
self  and  Magdalen  than  had  existed  an  hour  ago  ;  that  she  knew 
the  worst  there  was  to  know  of  him,  and  would,  in  time,  see 
and  appreciate  the  better  side  of  his  character,  and  with  this  he 
was  content,  and  seemed  much  like  himself,  the  courtly,  pol 
ished  gentleman,  whose  attentions  were  almost  lover-like,  and 
who  showed  in  every  look  and  action  how  thoroughly  he  be 
lieved  in  and  how  fast  his  love  and  interest  was  increasing  for 
the  beautiful  girl  who  had  been  so  conclusively  proved  to  be 
his  daughter. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

AT   BEECHWOOD. 

[T  was  not  possible  for  Mrs.  Seymour  to  keep  perfectly 
quiet  with  regard  to  the  cause  of  Magdalen's  sudden 
journey  to  Cincinnati,  especially  as  Alice  herself 
talked  and  wondered  so  much  about  it.  Little  by  little  it  came 
out,  until  Alice  had  heard  the  entire  story,  which  made  her  for 
a  time  almost  as  crazy  as  Laura  herself.  A  few  lines  from 
Guy  written  hurriedly  in  the  cars,  on  his  way  to  Schodick,  told 
her  at  last  that  what  she  hoped  was  true,  and  then  in  the  soli 
tude  of  her  room  she  knelt,  and  amid  tears  of  joy  and  choking 
sobs  paid  her  vows  of  praise  and  thanksgiving,  and  asked  that 
she  might  be  made  worthy  of  the  priceless  gift  so  suddenly  be 
stowed  upon  her.  The  next  day  a  telegram  from  her  father 
tpprised  her  that  he  would  be  home  that  night  "  with  Magdalen, 


326  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

your  sister;"  and  Alice  kissed  the  words  "your  sister,"  and  re- 
peating  them  softly  to  herself  went  dancing  about  the  house, 
now  explaining  to  the  astonished  servants,  and  again  trying  to 
convey  some  definite  idea  to  the  darkened  mind  of  her  mother. 
But  Laura's  only  answer  was,  "Baby  is  in  the  cradle.  I  see 
her  if  you  do  not." 

She  was,  however,  pleased  that  Magdalen  was  coming  home, 
and  asked  to  be  made  "  tidy  and  nice,  so  that  Magda  would  be 
glad." 

Once,  as  Alice  was  buttoning  the  clean  wrapper  and  arrang 
ing  the  crimson  shawl,  which  gave  a  soft  tint  to  the  sallow, 
faded  face,  the  poor  creature's  lip  quivered  a  little  as  she  said, 
"  Am  I  really  nice,  and  will  Arthur  kiss  me,  think  you  ?  I 
wish  he  would.  It  might  make  me  better.  Your  talk  of  Cin 
cinnati  has  brought  queer  things  back  to  me,  and  sometimes  I 
can  almost  get  hold  of  how  it  was,  then  it  goes  again.  I  wish 
Arthur  would  kiss  me." 

"  I  hope  he  will.  I  think  he  will,"  Alice  said,  her  own  kisses 
falling  in  showers  upon  the  wasted  face  of  the  invalid,  who 
seemed  more  rational  than  she  had  for  many  weeks. 

As  the  day  wore  on  and  the  hour  approached  for  the  travel 
lers  to  arrive,  Alice  grew  very  restless  and  impatient,  and  would 
not  for  an  instant  leave  the  window  where  she  watched  anx 
iously  for  the  carriage. 

"  They  are  coming ;  they  are  here,"  she  cried  at  last,  and 
running  into  the  hall  she  was  the  first  to  welcome  Magdalen, 
whose  face  was  drenched  with  tears,  and  whose  heart  throbbed 
with  an  entirely  new  sensation  of  happiness  as  she  felt  Alice's 
kisses  upon  her  lips  and  the  tight  clasp  of  her  arms  about  her 
neck. 

Aunt  Penelope  came  next,  and  though  her  greeting  was  more 
in  accordance  with  perfect  propriety,  there  was  much  genuine 
affection  and  kindness  in  it,  and  Magdalen  knew  that  she  be 
lieved  in  her  and  accepted  her  as  a  niece.  Mr.  Grey  was  no 
where  to  be  seen.  He  had  stood  an  instant  and  looked  on 
when  Alice  and  Magdalen  first  met,  then  he  vanished  from  sight, 


AT  BEECHWOOD.  32? 

and  Alice  found  him  half  an  hour  later  in  her  rr.other's  room, 
whither  he  had  gone  at  once.  Perhaps  the  recovery  of  his 
daughter  had  brought  back  something  of  his  olden  love  for 
Laura,  or  there  were  really  better  impulses  at  work  within,  for 
his  first  thought  was  for  his  wife,  and  when,  as  he  came  in,  she 
asked  if  "  She  did  not  look  nice,"  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  as 
he  had  not  done  in  years ;  and  the  poor  creature,  who  had 
known  so  much  suffering,  clung  to  him,  and  laying  her  aching 
head  upon  his  bosom,  sobbed  and  wept  like  a  child,  saying  to 
herself,  "he  did,  he  did  —  kiss  me, — he  did  —  " 

"  Laura,"  Mr.  Grey  said,  softly,  when  she  had  grown  a  little 
calm,  "  try  to  understand  me,  won't  you  ?  The  lost  baby  is 
found.  It  is  Magdalen,  too,  whom  a  kind  man  took  care  of. 
We  have  seen  Mrs.  Storms  in  Cynthiana;  you  remember  her?" 

Laura  remembered  Mrs.  Storms,  and  for  a  few  moments  the 
fixed  expression  of  her  eyes  and  the  drawn  look  about  her  fore 
head  and  mouth  showed  that  reason  was  making  a  tremendous 
effort  to  grasp  and  retain  what  she  heard.  But  it  had  been 
dethroned  too  long  to  penetrate  the  darkness  now,  and  when 
she  spoke,  it  was  to  assert  that  "  baby  was  in  the  cradle  over 
there ;  Magdalen  was  too  big  to  be  her  baby."  Hopeless  and 
disheartened,  Mr.  Grey  desisted  in  his  attempts  to  make  her 
understand,  but  stayed  by  her  tilf  Alice  came  to  say  that  dinner 
waited. 

It  was  thought  best  that  Magdalen  should  not  see  Laura 
until  the  next  morning,  when  it  was  hoped  that  she  might  convey 
some  definite  idea  to  her  mind.  They  were  to  meet  alone,  and 
after  breakfast  Magdalen  repaired  to  the  sick-room,  and  enter 
ing  unannounced,  was  received  by  her  mother  with  outstretched 
arms  and  a  cry  of  joy. 

"You've  been  gone  long,  Magda, — so  long,"  she  said, 
"  and  my  head  has  ached  so  for  you." 

"But  I've  come  now  to  stay  always.  I  have  found  the 
baby,  too.  Let  me  tell  you  about  it,"  Magdalen  replied,  con 
trolling  her  own  emotions  with  a  mighty  effort,  and  keeping  as 
calm  and  composed  as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  do.  "  I'll 


328  AT  BEECHWOOD 

make  it  like  a  story,"  she  said ;  and  Laura  listened  very  quietly 
while  Magdalen,  beginning  at  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Clayton, 
went  over  the  whole  ground  correctly,  until  she  reached  the 
cars  and  the  boy  who  took  the  baby. 

Then  she  purposely  deviated  from  the  truth,  and  said  it  was 
a  woman  to  whom  the  child  was  given. 

"  No,  no,  not  a  woman,"  Laura  exclaimed,  vehemently. 
"  It  was  a  boy,  and  I  sat  with  him,  and  my  head  was  all  in  a 
snarl.  I  fell  when  I  got  out  of  the  stage  in  Cincinnati,  and 
struck  it  a  heavy  blow  on  the  pavement,  and  it  set  to  buzzing 
so  loud." 

Here  was  something  of  which  Magdalen  had  never  heard ; 
the  blow  on  the  head  would  account  for  the  culmination  of  the 
queer  fancies  which  must  have  been  gathering  in  Laura's  brain 
for  months  and  years,  and  which  broke  out  suddenly  into  de 
cided  insanity.  If  that  were  true  she  could  understand  better 
than  she  did  before  why  she  had  been  abandoned ;  but  she  did 
not  stop  then  to  reason  about  it.  She  was  too  anxious  to  keep 
her  mother  to  the  point,  and  when  she  paused  a  moment  she 
said  to  her,  "  You  fell  and  hurt  your  head  on  the  pavement, 
and  then  got  into  the  train." 

"Yes,  the  next  day,  or  the  next,  I  don't  know  which,  my 
head  ached  so,  and  I  didn't  know  anybody  to  tell,  and  I  had 
baby  to  care  for,  and  I  thought  the  Grand  Duchess  would  get 
her  as  she  did  Alice,  and  shut  me  up,  and  the  boy  looked  good 
and  true,  and  I  gave  her  to  him,  and  got  out  and  thought  I'd 
run  away,  and  there  was  another  train  standing  there,  and  I 
took  it  and  went  I  don't  know  where,  nor  what  else,  only  I  was 
back  in  Cincinnati  again,  and  after  a  great  while  got  here  to 
the  Grand  Duchess,  with  the  baby  safe  as  safe  could  be.  My 
head  was  sore  a  long  time,  but  I  did  not  tell  them  about  the 
blow  for  fear  they'd  say  I  was  crazy,  but  they  said  it  just  the 
same." 

She  was  getting  excited,  and  anxious  to  make  the  most  of 
the  present  opportunity,  Magdalen  took  up  the  story  herself, 
and  told  what  the  boy  did  with  the  child,  and  how  he  called 


AT  BEECHWOOD.  329 

her  Magdalen,  after  the  same  lady  for  whom  Mrs.  Grey  had 
named  her,  and  how  the  child  grew  to  a  woman,  and  came  out 
at  last  to  Beechwood,  sent  there  by  Heaven  to  find  her  sisterv 
and  minister  to  her  poor  mother,  who  did  not  know  her  at  first, 
but  who  would  surely  know  her  now. 

"Don't  you,  mother ;  don't  you  know  I  am  your  daughter 
Magdalen  ?  " 

For  an  instant  Laura  seemed  to  comprehend  her.  There 
was  a  perplexed  look  on  her  face,  then  her  lip  began  to  quiver 
and  her  tears  to  come,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  Magda 
len's  neck,  she  said,  "  Mother,  mother,  you  call  me  that  as 
Alice  does.  You  say  you  are  the  baby,  and  Arthur  said  so  too. 
I  wish  I  could  remember,  but  I  can't.  Oh,  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean,  but  you  make  me  so  happy  !  " 

And  that  was  Magdalen's  success,  with  which  she  tried  to  be 
satisfied,  hoping  there  might  come  a  time  when  the  cloud  would 
lift  enough  for  her  to  hear  her  mother  call  her  daughter,  and 
feel  that  she  knew  what  she  was  saying. 

The  next  day  Guy  came  from  Schodick.  Magdalen  was  the 
first  to  meet  him,  and  her  eyes  asked  the  question  her  lips 
would  never  have  uttered. 

" No,  Miss  Grey"  Guy  said,  laughingly,  adopting  the  name 
which  sounded  so  oddly  to  her.  "He  did  not  send  any 
written  reply  to  your  note.  There  is  some  confounded  bother 
on  his  mind,  I  could  not  divine  what ;  something  which  sealed 
his  lips,  though  his  face  and  eyes  and  manner  had  '  Magdalen, 
Magdalen,'  written  all  over  and  through  them.  Don't  look  so 
sorry,  cousin,"  he  continued,  winding  his  arm  around  her  waist, 
"  and  don't  try  to  look  so  innocent,  either.  I  guessed  the  whole 
thing  when  you  handed  me  the  note,  and  I  know  it  for  certain 
now.  You  love  Roger  Irving,  he  loves  you.  There  is  nothing 
truer  than  that,  but  there  is  something  between  you,  —  what,  I 
don't  know, — but  I'll  find  it  out.  I'll  clear  it  up.  He  is  a 
splendid  fellow,  and  almost  idolized,  I  judge,  by  the  people  of 
Schodick.  Not  much  like  his  nephew  Frank, " 


33°  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

Here  Guy  stopped  suddenly,  for  Mr.  Grey  was  coming  in 
with  Alice,  who  asked  the  result  of  his  visit  to  Mr.  Irving. 

"  I  have  learned  but  little  that  we  did  not  know  before,"  Guy 
said.  "Mr.  Irving's  description  of  the  woman  who  left  the 
child  tallies  exactly  with  what  I  should  suppose  Mrs.  Grey 
might  have  been  at  that  time.  A  woman  of  twenty  or  there 
abouts,  medium  size,  dressed  in  mourning,  carrying  a  satchel, 
with  black  hair  and  eyes,  —  the  woman  I  mean,  not  the  satchel, 
— restless,  peculiar  eyes  they  were,  and  he  said  he  had  frequently 
noticed  the  same  peculiarity  about  Magdalen's,  which  means, 
I  take  it,  that  they  flash  and  glow  and  raise  the  mischief  with  a 
fellow." 

He  gave  a  comical  look  at  Magdalen,  and  did  not  observe 
the  frown  on  Mr.  Grey's  face,  but  Magdalen  did,  and  felt  a 
throb  of  pain  as  she  saw  a  new  obstacle  laid  across  the  path  to 
Roger.  There  were  many  things  she  wanted  to  ask  Guy 
about  that  home  in  Schodick  which  she  could  not  ask  with  her 
father  and  Alice  present,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  must  cry  out 
right  with  pain  and  disappointment.  Guy,  however,  was  not 
one  to  lose  much  of  what  was  passing  around  him,  and  after 
telling  Mr.  Grey  the  particulars  of  his  interview  with  Roger,  he 
sauntered  towards  the  library,  knowing  that  Magdalen  would 
follow  him.  And  she  did,  and  blushed  scarlet  at  the  whistle 
he  gave  as  he  said,  "  I  knew  you  would  come.  Now  what 
shall  I  tell  you?  What  do  you  want  to  know  most?" 

He  had  her  secret.  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  conceal 
it,  and  Magdalen  did  not  try,  but  said,  "Don't  laugh  at  me, 
Guy.  Think  what  Roger  has  been  to  me  all  these  years,  and 
tell  me  how  he  looks,  and  about  the  house,  and  does  he  work 
very  hard  ?  Oh,  Guy,  he  was  made  poor  by  me,  you  know, 
and  I  have  all  my  wages  saved  up  ready  to  send  him,  but  now 
I  can't  earn  any  more,  and  what  I've  got  is  so  little." 

Her  tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  brushed 
them  away  and  looked  half  indignantly  at  Guy,  who  laughed 
merrily  as  he  said  :  "The  absurdity  of  your  sending  money  to 
R  >ger.  He  does  not  need  it ;  take  my  word  for  that.  The 


AT  BEECHWOOD.  331 

house  is  old,  old  as  the  hills,  I  reckon,  judging  from  its  archi 
tecture,  but  very  comfortable  and  neat  as  a  lady's  slipper.  I 
saw  no  marks  of  poverty.  The  neighbors  did  not  send  in  any 
thing  while  I  was  there,  and  we  had  a  grand  dinner.  I  dined 
with  him,  you  see,  on  solid  silver,  too,  with  wine  and  Malaga 
grapes ;  though  come  to  think  of  it,  the  grapes  were  a  present 
from  Frank,  who  sent  a  box  from  New  York.  That  Frank  is 
living  fast  and  doing  the  magnificent  on  a  great  scale,  I  reckon, 
but  I'd  rather  be  Roger  than  he." 

"  Didn't  Roger  say  anything  to  my  note?  "  Magdalen  asked, 
more  interested  in  that  than  in  Frank  and  Malaga  grapes. 

"  No,  he  didn't,  except,  'Tell  Magdalen  I  will  answer  this  by 
and  by,'  "  Guy  said  ;  "  but  he  seemed  glad  for  you  in  one  sense, 
and  then  again  he  didn't.  I  should  say,  if  I  am  any  judge  of 
mankind,  that  he  was  afraid  that  the  gulf  between  the  rich 
Miss  Grey  and  the  poor  Mr.  Irving  was  wider  than  he  could 
span,  but  I  may  be  mistaken ;  at  all  events  it  is  sure  to  come 
right  in  time.  As  I  said  before,  he  is  a  splendid  chap,  and  you 
have  my  consent." 

Guy  was  very  hopeful,  very  comforting,  and  Magdalen  felt 
better  after  this  talk  with  him,  and  looked  anxiously  for  the 
letter  which  Roger  was  to  send,  and  which  came  at  last.  A 
kind,  brotherly  letter,  in  which  he  said  how  glad  he  was  for  her 
that  she  had  found  her  friends,  and  disclaimed  all  idea  of  her 
having  ever  brought  trouble  to  him. 

"  You  have  been  the  source  of  the  greatest  happiness  I  have 
ever  enjoyed,"  he  wrote  ;  "  and  I  would  give  a  dozen  fortunes 
rather  than  not  have  known  you,  and  enjoyed  you  for  the  few 
years  I  called  you  mine,  my  sister,  my  child,  my  Magda.  Once 
I  could  have  cursed  the  man  who  lured  my  mother  to  her  ruin, 
and  cursed  his  children,  too ;  but  I  did  not  then  dream  that 
such  a  curse  would  cover  the  beautiful  child  of  my  adoption. 
Heaven  bless  you,  Magda,  in  all  your  new  relations  !  Heaven 
make  you  happy  in  them  as  you  deserve  to  be  !  Once  I  hoped 
I  might  see  you  at  Schodick,  and  I  have  thought  how  I  would 
take  you  around  the  old  farm,  and  to  the  places  hallowed 


332  AT  BEECHWOOD. 

by  my  mother's  footsteps,  and  pictured  to  myself  just  what  yos 
would  say,  and  just  how  you  would  look.  But  that  dream  is 
over  now.  I  cannot  ask  you  to  come.  You  would  not  care 
to,  nor  your  father  care  to  have  you.  Remember  me  to  him, 
if  you  like.  .  Since  I  know  he  is  your  father,  I  feel  no  bitterness 
toward  him.  Good-by !  And  God  bless  you,  and  bring  you, 
at  last,  to  the  Heaven  where  I  hope  to  find  my  little  girl  again ! " 

This  was  Roger's  letter,  over  which  Magdalen  wept  tears  of 
pain,  mingled  with  tears  of  joy,  — joy,  that  he  loved  her  still,  — 
for  only  in  that  way  coukl  she  construe  some  portions  of  his 
letter ;  and  pain  that  he  should  write  as  if  all  intercourse  be 
tween  them  was  necessarily  at  an  end ;  that  he  was  probably 
never  to  see  her ;  she  never  to  go  to  Schodick,  when  she  had 
within  the  last  few  days  thought  so  much  about  it,  and  planned 
how  she  could,  perhaps,  get  her  father  and  Alice  to  go  with 
her,  and  thus  show  Roger  to  them.  That  plan  had  failed,  that 
castle  fallen,  and  Magdalen  wept  its  fall,  wondering  what  had 
come  over  Roger,  and  what  he  meant  by  some  portions  of  his 
letter.  She  did  not  know  how,  for  a  moment,  Roger  had 
writhed  under  the  knowledge  that  she  was  the  daughter  of 
Arthur  Grey ;  or  how  the  fact  had  seemed  at  once  to  build  an 
iron  wall  between  him  and  the  girl  he  loved  better  than  his  life. 
Then,  just  as  he  was  recovering  from  the  first  great  shock,  and 
hope  was  beginning  to  make  itself  heard  again,  Guy  had  un 
wittingly  put  his  oar  into  the  troubled  waters,  and  made  them 
ten  times  worse.  In  his  enthusiasm  about  Magdalen,  whom 
he  extolled  as  all  that  was  lovely  and  desirable,  he  gave  Roger 
the  impression  that  between  himself  and  Magdalen  there 
already  existed  an  intimacy  which  would  ripen  into  relations 
of  a  closer  nature  than  mere  friends.  And  Roger  listened  to 
him  with  a  face  which  told  no  tales,  and  a  heart  which  throbbed 
with  jealousy  and  pain ;  and  then,  feeling  that  he  must  know 
something  definite,  said  to  him,  just  as  he  was  leaving : 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Seymour,  if  I  seem  impertinent.  From 
what  you  have  said,  I  gather  that  you  hope,  one  day,  to  be 
more  to  Mr.  Grey  than  his  sister's  nephew." 


THE    CLOUDS  BREAK  OVER  BEECHWOOD.       333 

And  Guy,  thinking  only  of  Alice  at  that  moment,  Lad 
replied : 

"You  are  something  of  a  Yankee,  1  guess.  But  you  are 
right  in  your  conjectures.  I  do  hope  to  be  more  to  Mr.  Grey 
than  his  sister's  nephew;  but  there's  no  telling.  Girls  are 
riddles,  you  know." 

And  then  good-natured,  kind-hearted  Guy  had  gone  his  way, 
leaving  in  Roger's  mind  an  impression  which  drifted  his  life 
farther  and  farther  away  from  Magdalen,  whose  heart  went 
out  after  him  now  with  a  stronger  desire  than  it  had  ever 
known  before. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE  CLOUDS  BREAK  OVER  BEECHWOOD. 

CKNOWLEDGED  by  every  one  as  the  daughter  of 
the  Greys,  caressed  and  idolized  by  Alice,  petted  by 
Aunt  Penelope,  and  treated  by  Mr.  Grey  with  the 
utmost  tenderness  and  deference,  Magdalen  would  have 
been  perfectly  happy  but  for  one  unfulfilled  desire  which  was 
the  skeleton  at  her  side.  Between  herself  and  Alice  there 
was  perfect  confidence,  while  she  was  learning  daily  more  and 
more  to  respect  her  father,  who  omitted  nothing  which  could 
tend  to  win  her  love.  To  her  mother  she  was  the  same  gentle 
nurse  who  never  grew  weary,  but  who  sat  hour  after  hour  by 
the  bedside,  repeating  over  and  over  again  the  story  of  the 
lost  child,  until  Laura  knew  it  by  heart  and  would  correct  her 
at  once  if  she  deviated  ever  so  little.  There  was  a  change 
gradually  stealing  over  the  invalid,  a  change  both  in  body  and 
mind.  She  was  far  more  quiet,  and  did  not  rock  the  cradle  as 
much  as  formerly,  and  once,  when  Magdalen  had  finished  hex 
story  for  the  second  time  that  day,  she  said  to  her,  "  I  think  I 
have  heard  it  enough  to  know  that  baby  is  not  in  the  crib,  and 


334       THE   CLOUDS  BREAK  OVER  BEECHWOOD. 

never  has  been.  Take  it  away,  —  where  I  can't  rock  it  again 
and  make  Arthur  so  nervous." 

They  carried  it  out,  —  Alice  and  Magdalen  together,  —  and 
put  it  away,  each  -feeling,  as  they  left  it,  as  if  turning  from  a 
little  grave.  Laura  never  spoke  of  it  but  once,  and  that  was 
to  her  husband.  Pointing  to  the  place  where  it  had  stood  so 
long,  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  Do  you  see  it  is  gone  ?  It  will 
never  keep  you  awake  again.  Kiss  me,  Arthur,  for  I,  too,  shall 
be  gone  before  long." 

He  kissed  her,  more  than  once,  and  put  his  arms  about  her, 
and  felt  how  small  and  thin  she  had  grown  ;  then  looking  into 
her  face  he  saw  the  change  which  only  Magdalen  had  noticed. 
The  burden  was  lifting,  the  cloud  was  breaking,  and  Laura  was 
passing  away.  There  was  no  particular  disease,  only  a  gradual 
breaking  up  of  the  springs  of  life,  and  as  the  days  grew  longer 
and  warmer  she  drooped  more  and  more,  until  at  last  she 
never  left  her  bed  all  day,  and  rarely  spoke  except  to  Magdalen, 
who  was  with  her  constantly.  Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  there 
was  a  gleam  of  reason  struggling  through  the  darkness  which 
had  shrouded  her  mind  so  long,  but  it  never  went  much  furthei 
than  such  expressions  as,  "  I  think  I  do  remember  the  boy  with 
the  kind  voice  and  soft  blue  eyes,  to  whom  I  gave  Magdalen, 
but  I  can't  quite  make  out  how  that  Magdalen  and  this  are 
one." 

"  I  would  not  try  now ;  I'd  go  to  sleep  and  rest,"  Magdalen 
would  say,  and  obedient  to  the  voice  she  always  heeded,  Laura 
would  grow  quiet  and  fall  again  into  the  deep  slumber  so 
common  to  her  now. 

In  this  way  she  lingered  on  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  died 
quietly  one  morning  in  early  June,  when  her  husband  was  in  New 
York  and  only  Magdalen  and  Alice  were  with  her.  They  knew 
that  she  was  failing,  but  they  had  not  thought  the  end  so  near, 
and  were  greatly  shocked  when,  at  a  faint  call  from  her,  they 
hastened  to  her  side  and  saw  the  pinched  look  about  her  nose, 
the  deep  pallor  about  her  lips,  and  the  sweat-drops  upon  her 
brow. 


THE   CLOUDS  BREAK  OVER  BEECHWOOD.       335 

"Let  me  go  for  aunty,"  Alice  said,  but  her  mother  answered, 
"  Noj  Alice,  there  won't  be  time.  I'm  going  somewhere,  going 
away  from  here,  and  I  want  you  and  Magda  to  stay.  It's 
getting  night,  and  the  way  is  dark,  and  life  is  very  weary.  Give 
me  your  hands,  both  of  you,  my  children." 

She  acknowledged  Magdalen,  and  with  a  cry  the  young  girl 
fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  exclaiming,  "  Mother,  oh 
mother,  you  do  know  I  am  your  child.  Call  me  that  once 
more." 

But  Laura's  mind  was  going  out  after  one  who  was  not  there, 
and  she  only  whispered,  "  Where  is  Arthur  ?  Allie,  where  is 
your  father  ?  " 

"In  New  York,"  was  the  reply,  and  a  shadow  flitted  over 
the  otherwise  placid  face,  as  Laura  rejoined,  "  Always  in  New 
York,  the  old,  old  story.  I  wish  he  was  here ;  tell  him,  will 
you,  that  I  am  gone,  and  before  I  went  I  left  word  I  was  sorry 
I  had  troubled  him  so  much.  I'd  like  to  kiss  him  again. 
Magda,  let  me  kiss  you  for  him  ;  give  it  to  him  for  me,  and  if 
I  don't  look  very  bad,  ask  him  to  kiss  me  back,  but  not  unless 
I'm  decent  looking.  He's  fastidious,  and  fancies  pretty  faces." 

She  wound  her  arms  about  Magdalen's  neck  and  her  cold 
lips  gave  the  kiss  for  Arthur.  It  was  their  last ;  they  never 
moved  again,  and  when  Magdalen  unclasped  the  clinging  arms 
from  her  neck  and  laid  the  poor  head  which  had  ached  so  long 
back  upon  the  pillow,  she  saw  that  her  mother  was  dead.  They 
telegraphed  at  once  for  Mr.  Grey,  who  reached  home  just  at 
nightfall.  They  had  dressed  Laura  in  white  and  laid  her  on 
the  couch  with  flowers  in  her  hands  and  flowers  on  her  pillow, 
and  as  if  in  answer  to  her  wishes,  the  old  worn  look  had  passed 
entirely  from  her  face,  which  looked  smooth  and  fair  and 
younger  than  the  face  of  forty  is  wont  to  look.  Many  traces 
of  her  soft,  girlish  beauty  clung  to  her  still,  and  Mr.  Grey,  when 
first  he  went  into  the  room  and  drew  aside  the  muslin  which 
covered  her  face,  started,  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise  at  the  unexpected  beauty  of  his  wife.  He  did  like  pretty 
faces,  and  he  was  glad  that  the  Laura,  who  lay  there  dead,  was 


33<5       THE    CLOUDS  BREAK  OVER  BEECHWOOD. 

like  the  girl  he  had  loved  so  passionately  for  a  few  brief  months. 
The  sight  of  her  as  she  was  now  with  the  placid  look  on  hei 
white  face  and  the  long  eyelashes  shading  her  cheek,  brought 
back  something  of  his  former  love  for  Laura  Clayton,  and 
kneeling  beside  her  he  wept  tears  of  sorrow  and  regret  for  the 
life  which  had  been  so  full  of  sorrow. 

"  Laura,  poor  Laura,"  he  said,  and  his  hand  fondled  the  cold 
cheek  which  would  never  again  glow  beneath  his  touch,  "  I 
wish  you  could  know  I  am  here  beside  you,  and  how  sorry  I 
am  for  the  past.  Dear  Laura,  I  wish  you  had  forgiven  me 
before  you  died." 

"  She  did,  father,  and  I  am  here  to  tell  you  what  she  said." 

It  was  Magdalen's  voice  which  spoke  and  Magdalen  who 
knelt  by  the  weeping  man,  calling  him  father  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life  !  Passing  the  open  door  she  had  heard  his  words  of 
grief,  and  her  first  impulse  was  to  comfort  him.  It  was  very 
meet  that  there  in  the  presence  of  the  dead  mother  she  should 
call  him  father,  and  the  name  fell  involuntarily  from  her  lips, 
sending  a  thrill  of  joy  through  his  heart,  and  causing  him  to  look 
up  as  she  knelt  beside  him  and  press  her  closely  to  his  heart. 

"  Bless  you,  Magdalen,  my  darling,  my  daughter ;  bless  you 
for  calling  me  by  that  name.  I  have  longed  so  for  it,  have  wanted 
so  to  hear  it.  I  shall  be  a  better  man.  I  am  a  better  man. 
I  believe  in  Alice's  God,  and  here  by  Laura's  side,  in  His  pres 
ence  and  yours,  I  acknowledge  my  past  transgressions.  I  re 
nounce  my  infidel  notions,  in  which  I  really  never  did  believe. 
I  wish  to  be  forgiven.  I  pray  that  Jessie  and  Laura,  both  of 
whom  I  wronged,  may  have  met  together  in  the  Heaven  to 
which  I  am  unfit  to  go." 

He  was  talking  more  to  himself  than  to  Magdalen,  who,  when 
he  had  finished,  told  him  of  Laura's  last  moments,  omitting 
everything  which  could  give  him  pain  and  telling  him  only  of 
the  kindly  message  left  for  him.  "  She  wanted  to  kiss  you," 
Magdalen  said,  "and  as  you  were  not  here,  she  gave  it  to  me 
foi  you.  This  was  mother's  kiss  for  my  father;"  and  Magda- 


BELL  BURLEIGH.  337 

len's  lips  were  pressed  against  the  lips  of  Mr.  Grey,  who  broke 
down  entirely  and  sobbed  like  a  little  child. 

Could  Laura  have  looked  into  that  room,  she  surely  would 
have  been  satisfied  with  the  tears  and  kisses  given  her  by  her 
husband,  who  sat  there  until  midnight,  and  whom  the  early 
morning  found  at  her  side.  Had  she  been  always  as  young  and 
fair  and  as  dearly  loved  as  when  he  first  called  her  his  wife,  he 
could  not  have  seemed  more  sad  or  expressed  more  sorrow 
than  he  did.  Everything  which  could  be  done  for  a  dead  per 
son  was  done  for  her,  and  her  funeral  was  arranged  with  as 
much  care  as  if  she  had  been  a  blessing  rather  than  a  trouble 
to  the  house  over  whose  threshold  they  bore  her,  on  a  beautiful 
summer's  day,  out  to  the  little  family  cemetery  on  the  hillside, 
where  they  buried  her  beside  the  proud  old  woman,  who  made 
no  demur  when  the  plebeian  form  was  laid  beside  her. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

BELL   BURLEIGH. 

fHERE  was  to  be  a  wedding  in  St.  James's  Church, 
Boston,  and  the  persons  most  interested  were  Isabella 
Helena  Burleigh  and  B.  Franklin  Irving,  whose  bridal 
cards  were  sent  to  Beechwood  one  morning  a  few  weeks 
after  Laura's  death.  It  was  to  be  a  most  brilliant  affair,  and 
was  creating  considerable  excitement  both  in  Belvidere  and  in 
Boston,  where  by  virtue  of  her  boasted  blood,  which  she  traced 
back  to  Elizabeth's  time,  and  by  dint  of  an  indomitable  will, 
Miss  Burleigh  was  really  quite  a  belle.  It  was  her  Mood 
which  had  won  upon  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  said  she  thought 
more  of  family  pedigree  than  money,  and  Miss  Burleigh's,  pedi 
gree  was  without  taint  of  any  kind.  Sp  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was 
pleased,  or  feigned  to  be  50,  and  went  tQ  Boston,  and  took 


338  BELL  BURLEIGH. 

rooms  at  the  Revere,  at  fifteen  dollars  per  day,  and  ha*l  her 
rneals  served  in  her  private  parlor ;  and  Fiank  brought  down 
his  own  horses  and  carriage,  and  took  another  suite  of  rooms, 
and  paid  at  the  rate  of  twenty  dollars  per  day  for  all  his  ex 
travagances  in  the  way  of  cigars  and  wine,  and  friends  invited 
to  dinner.  His  evenings  he  spent  with  his  bride-elect  in  her 
home  on  Beacon  Street,  where  everything  betokened  that  the 
proprietors  were  not  rich  in  worldly  goods,  if  they  were  in 
blood. 

The  Burleighs  were  very  poor,  else  the  spirited  Bell,  who 
had  more  brains  than  heart,  had  never  accepted  Frank  Irving. 
She  knew  just  what  he  was,  and,  alone  with  her  young  sister 
Grace,  mimicked  him,  and  called  him  "  green,"  and  when  she 
was  with  him  in  company,  shivered,  and  grew  hot  and  cold, 
and  angry  at  some  of  his  remarks,  which  betokened  so  little 
sense. 

He  was  gentlemanly  to  a  certain  extent,  and  knew  all  the 
ins  and  outs  of  good  society ;  but  he  was  not  like  the  men 
with  whom  Bell  Burleigh  had  associated  all  her  life  ;  not  like 
the  men  she  respected  for  what  was  in  their  heads  rather  than 
in  their  purse.  But  as  these  men  had  thus  far  been  unattaina 
ble,  and  the  coffers  at  home  were  each  year  growing  lower  and 
lower  as  her  father  grew  older  and  older,  Bell  swallowed  all  senti 
ment,  and  the  ideas  she  had  once  had  of  a  husband  to  whom 
she  could  look  up,  and  accepted  Frank  Irving  and  Millbank. 

But  not  without  her  price.  She  made  Frank  pay  for  her 
blood  and  charms,  and  pay  munificently,  too.  First,  one  hun 
dred  thousand  dollars  were  to  be  settled  on  herself,  to  do  with 
as  she  pleased.  Next,  sister  Grace  and  her  father  were  both 
to  live  with  her  at  Millbank,  and  Frank  was  to  clothe  and  sup- 
port  Grace  as  if  she  were  his  own  sister.  Then,  her  brother 
Charlie's  bills  at  college  must  be  paid,  and  after  he  was  gradu 
ated  he  must  come  to  Millbank  as  his  home  until  he  went 
into  business. 

These  were  Bell's  terms,  and  Frank  winced  a  little  and  hesi 
tated,  and  when  she  had  told  him  to  take  time  to  consider,  he 


BELL  BURLEIGH.  339 

took  it  ac.d  did  consider,  and  decided  that  it  would  not  pay, 
and  went  for  a  few  weeks  to  New  York,  where  at  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel  he  came  again  upon  the  Burleighs.  Bell 
knew  just  how  to  manage  him,  and  ere  he  had  been  there  three 
days  he  was  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  ever,  and  madly  jeal 
ous  of  every  one  who  paid  her  marked  attentions.  The  price 
she  asked  seemed  as  nothing  compared  with  herself,  and  one 
evening  after  she  had  been  unusually  fascinating  and  brilliant, 
and  had  snubbed  him  dreadfully,  he  wrote  a  note  accepting 
her  terms,  and  begging  her  to  name  an  early  day  and  put  him 
out  of  torture.  In  her  dressing-gown,  with  her  own  hair  falling 
about  her  shoulders  and  her  braids  and  curls  of  false  hair  lying 
on  the  bureau,  Bell  read  the  note,  and  felt  for  a  moment  that 
she  despised  and  hated  the  man  who  wrote  it,  just  because  he 
had  acceded  to  her  unreasonable  demands. 

"  I  wish  he  had  decided  otherwise.  I  would  almost  rather 
die  than  marry  him,"  she  thought,  while  her  eyes  put  on  a 
darker  look  and  her  face  a  paler  hue. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  home  on  Beacon  Street,  of  the 
pinching  poverty,  the  efforts  to  keep  up  appearances,  of  her 
father  growing  so  old,  and  of  herself,  not  so  young  as  she  was 
once,  —  twenty-eight,  the  Bible  said,  though  she  passed  for 
twenty-five ;  then  she  thought  of  Charlie,  her  young  brother, 
and  glanced  at  Grace,  her  only  sister,  who  lay  sleeping  so 
quietly  before  her.  All  the  love  Bell  Burleigh  had  was  centred 
in  her  father,  her  brother,  and  in  Grace,  the  fair  young  girl,  with 
soft  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair,  who  was  as  unlike  her  sister  as 
possible,  and  who  was  awakened  by  Bell's  tears  on  her  face, 
and  Bell's  kisses  on  her  brow. 

"What  is  it,  Bell?"  she  asked,  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  rub 
bing  her  eyes  in  a  sleepy  kind  of  way, 

Bell  did  not  say,  "I  have  sold  myself  for  you,"  But  —  "Re 
joice,  Grace,  that  we  are  never  again  to  know  what  poverty 
means  ;  never  to  pinch  and  contriv  e  and  save  and  do  things  we 
are  ashamed  of  in  order  to  keep  up.  I  am  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Irving,  and  you  are  all  to  live  with  me  at  Millbank. 


340  BELL  BURLE1GH. 

Grace  was  wide  awake  now,  and  looking  earnestly  in  her 
sister's  face  for  a  moment,  said : 

"  You  marry  that  Mr.  Irving,  you,  Bell  ?  There  is  not  a  thing 
in  common  between  you,  unless  you  love  him.  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Grace  ;  don't  speak  of  love  to  me,"  and  Bell's  voice 
had  in  it  a  hard,  bitter  tone.  "  I  parted  company  with  that 
sentiment  years  ago,  before  you  could  understand.  You  have 
heard  —  of —  Dr.  Patterson,  missionary  to  India  ?  I  would 
once  have  gone  with  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  but  mother 
said  I  was  too  young,  too  giddy,  and  the  Board  thought  so,  too. 
I  was  not  quite  seventeen,  and  I  defied  those  old  fogy  ministers 
to  their  faces,  and  when  they  asked  me  so  coldly  if  I  supposed 
myself  good  enough  to  be  a  missionary,  I  answered  that  I  was 
going  for  the  love  I  bore  to  Fred,  and  not  to  be  a  missionary, 
or  because  I  thought  myself  good  as  they  termed  goodness. 
And  so  it  was  broken  off,  and  Fred  went  without  me,  and  as 
they  said  he  must  have  a  wife,  he  took  a  tall,  red-haired  woman 
many  years  his  senior,  but  who,  to  her  other  qualifications, 
added  the  fact  that  she  was  a  professor,  and  believed  herself 
called  to  a  missionary  life.  She  is  dead  now,  and  her  grave  is 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges.  But  Fred's  life  and  mine  have 
drifted  widely  apart ;  I  am  no  wife  for  him  now.  I  have  grown 
too  hard,  and  reckless,  and  selfish,  and  too  fond  of  the  world, 
to  share  his  home  in  India.  And  so  all  I  have  to  remind  me 
of  the  past  as  connected  with  him  is  one  letter,  the  last  he  ever 
wrote  me,  and  a  lock  of  his  hair,  —  black  hair,  not  tow  color" 
and  Bell  smiled  derisively,  while  Grace  knew  that  she  was 
thinking  of  Frank,  whose  hair,  though  not  exactly  tow  color, 
was  far  from  being  black. 

Bell  paused  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  : 

"You  know  how  poor  we  are,  and  how  we  struggle  to  keep 
up,  and  how  much  father  owes.  Our  home  is  mortgaged  for 
more  than  it  is  worth,  and  so  is  every  article  of  any  value  in  it. 
I  should  like  brains  if  I  could  get  them  set  off  with  money,  but 
as  I  cannot,  I  have  concluded  to  take  the  money.  I  have 
counted  the  cost.  I  know  what  I  am  about.  I  shall  be  Mrs. 


BELL  BURLEIGH.  341 

Franklin  Irving,  and  pay  our  debts,  and  keep  you  all  with  me, 
—  and  —  be  —  happy." 

She  said  the  last  very  slowly,  and  there  was  a  look  of  pain  in 
the  eyes  of  this  girl  who  had  once  thought  to  be  a  missionary's 
wife,  and  who  had  in  her  many  elements  of  a  noble  woman. 
She  did  not  tell  Grace  the  price  she  had  put  upon  herself 
That  was  something  she  would  rather  her  young  sister  should 
not  know,  and  when  Grace,  whose  ideas  of  marriage  were  more 
what  Bell's  had  been  in  the  days  of  the  Fred  Patterson  romance, 
tried  to  expostulate,  she  stopped  her  short  with,  —  "  It's  of  no 
use;  my  mind  is  made  up.  I  have  told  you  what  I  have  be 
cause  I  knew  you  would  wonder  at  my  choice,  and  I  wanted 
you  to  know  some  of  the  causes  which  led  me  to  make  it.  I 
want  your  love,  your  respect,  your  confidence,  Grace,  I  want  — " 

Bell's  lip  quivered  a  little,  and  she  bowed  her  dark  head  over 
her  sister's  golden  one,  and  cried  a  little ;  then  sat  erect,  and 
the  old  proud,  independent  look  came  back  to  her  face,  and 
Bell  Burleighwas  herself  again,  —  the  calm,  resolute,  cool-headed 
woman  of  the  world,  who  had  sold  herself  for  money  and  a 
home. 

They  met  in  the  wide  entrance  hall  to  the  dining-room  next 
morning,  Frank  and  Bell,  and  while  he  stood  for  a  moment, 
waiting  for  his  paper,  she  said  a  word  to  him,  and  they  walked 
together  into  breakfast  an  engaged  pair,  with  quite  as  much 
love  and  sentiment  between  them  as  exists  in  many  and  many 
an  engagement  which  the  world  pronounces  so  eligible  and 
brilliant. 

Bell  had  some  shopping  to  do  that  morning,  and  Frank  did  not 
see  her  again  till  just  before  dinner,  when  he  met  and  escorted 
her  to  his  mother's  private  parlor,  where  she  was  to  receive  the 
priceless  boon  of  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  blessing.  That  lady  had 
heard  the  news  of  her  son's  engagement  with  a  good  deal  of 
eq.ianimity,  considering  there  was  no  money  to  be  expected. 
Like  many  people  of  humble  birth,  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  set  a  high 
value  on  family  and  blood,  and,  as  Bell's  were  both  of  the  first 


342  BELL  BURLE1GH. 

water,  she  accepted  her  as  her  future  daughter-ifi-law,  wishing 
to  herself  that  she  was  not  qui:;e  so  independent,  and  resolute, 
and  strong-minded,  as  the  absence  of  these  qualities  would 
render  her  so  much  more  susceptible  to  subjugation,  for  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  meant  to  subjugate  her. 

As  Mrs.  Franklin  Irving,  she  would,  of  course,  be  the  nom 
inal  mistress  of  Millbank ;  but  it  would  be  only  nominal.  Mrs, 
Walter  Scott  would  be  the  real  head ;  the  one  to  whom  every 
body  would  defer,  even  her  daughter-in-law.  But  she  said 
nothing  of  this  to  Frank.  She  merely  told  him  she  was  willing, 
that  Miss  Burleigh  was  a  girl  of  rare  talent  and  attainments 
that  she  had  a  great  deal  of  mind,  and  intellect,  and  literary 
taste,  and  would  shine  in  any  society. 

Frank  did  not  care  a  picayune  for  Bell's  talents,  or  attain 
ments,  or  literary  taste.  Indeed  he  would  rather  of  the  two 
thai'  she  had  less  of  these  virtues,  and  did  not  overshadow 
him  so  completely  as  he  knew  she  did.  Still  he  was  in  love 
with  her,  or  thought  he  was,  and  extolled  her  to  his  mother, 
but  did  not  speak  of  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  as  a  mar 
riage  settlement,  or  of  the  arrangement  about  the  Judge  and 
Charlie  and  Grace.  He  would  let  these  things  adjust  them 
selves  ;  and  he  had  faith  in  Bell's  ability  to  manage  her  own 
matters  quietly,  and  without  his  aid. 

She  was  looking  very  beautiful  when  he  led  her  to  his 
mother,  arrayed  in  her  heavy  purple  silk  with  the  white  ermine 
on  the  waist  and  sleeves,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  thought  what  a 
regal-looking  woman  she  was.  There  was  a  deep  flush  on  her 
cheek  and  a  sparkle  in  her  black  eyes,  and  her  white  teeth 
glittered  between  the  full,  pouting  lips  which  just  touched 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  hand,  as  she  stood  to  receive  the  blessing. 

When  they  went  into  dinner  that  night  after  the  blissful  in 
terview,  there  was  about  Frank  a  certain  consciousness  of 
ownership  in  the  beautiful  girl  who  walked  beside  him  and  on 
whose  finger  a  superb  diamond  was  shining,  the  seal  of  her 
engagement,  and  those  who  noticed  them  particularly,  and  to 


BELL  BURLEIGH.  343 

whom  Miss  Burleigh  was  known,  guessed  at  the  new  relations 
existing  between  the  two. 

This  was  in  the  winter,  and  before  Magdalen's  parentage  was 
discovered.  Since  then  the  course  of  true  love  had  run  pretty 
smoothly  for  once,  and  Frank  had  only  felt  a  single  pang,  and 
that  when  he  heard  who  Magdalen  Lennox  was.  Then  for  a 
moment  all  his  former  love  for  her  came  back,  and  Bell  Bur 
leigh,  who  chanced  to  be  at  Millbank  for  a  day  or  so,  wondered 
what  had  happened  to  him  that  he  was  so  absent-minded  and 
indifferent  to  her  blandishments.  She  was  very  gracious  to 
him  now,  feeling  that  there  was  something  due  him  for  all  his 
generosity  to  her,  and  as  she  could  not  give  him  love  in  its 
truest  sense,  she  would  give  him  civility  at  least  and  kindliness 
of  manner  and  a  show  of  affection.  So  when  she  saw  the 
shadow  on  his  face,  and  with  a  woman's  intuition  felt  that  some 
thing  more  than  mere  business  matters  had  brought  it  there,  she 
spoke  to  him  in  her  softest  manner  and  sang  him  her  sweetest 
songs  and  wore  his  favorite  dress,  and  twice  laid  her  hand  on 
his,  and  asked  what  was  the  matter  that  he  looked  so  gloomy  ; 
had  he  heard,  bad  news  ?  He  told  her  no,  and  kissed  her  fore 
head,  and  felt  his  blood  tingle  a  little  at  this  unusual  demonstra 
tion  from  his  fiancee,  and  so  fickle  and  easily  soothed  was  he, 
that  beneath  the  influence  of  Bell's  smile  the  shadow  began  to 
lift,  and  in  the  letter  of  congratulation  which  he  wrote  to  Mag 
dalen  there  was  nothing  but  genuine  sympathy  and  rejoicing 
that  she  had  found  her  home  at  last  and  a  sister  like  Alice  Grey. 

He  did  not  tell  of  his  engagement ;  he  was  a  little  ashamed 
to  have  Magdalen  know  that  he  was  so  soon  "  off  with  the  old 
love  and  on  with  the  new ;"  and  so  she  did  not  suspect  it  until 
every  arrangement  was  complete  and  the  day  for  the  bridal 
fixed.  Great  was  the  expenditure  for  silks  and  satins  and  laces 
and  jewelry,  and  not  only  New  York  and  Boston,  but  Paris, 
too,  was  drawn  upon  to  furnish  articles  of  clothing  rare  and  ex 
pensive  enough  for  a  bride  of  Bell  Burleigh' s  fastidious  taste 
and  extravagant  notions.  Frank,  who  grew  more  and  more 
proud  of  his  conquest,  and  consequently  more  and  more  in 


344  BELL  BURLEIGff. 

love  with  his  bride-^lect,  insisted  upon  furnishing  the  bridal 
trousseau,  and  bade  her  spare  neither  money  nor  pains,  but 
get  whatever  she  wanted  at  whatever  cost.  And  Bell  accepted 
his  money,  and  spent  it  so  lavishly  that  all  Boston  was  alive 
with  gossip  and  wonder.  There  were  to  be  six  bridesmaids, 
and  three  of  them  were  to  accompany  the  happy  pair  for  a 
week  or  so  at  Frank's  expense ;  and  Frank  never  flinched  a 
hair,  even  when  presented  with  the  Paris  bill,  in  which  were 
charges  of  one  hundred  dollars  and  more  for  just  one  article  of 
underclothing.  All  Bell's  linen  came  ready  made  from  Paris, 
and  such  tucks  and  ruffles  and  puffs  and  flutings  and  laces  had 
never  been  seen  before  in  Boston  in  so  great  profusion.  And 
Bell  bore  herself  like  a  queen,  who  had  all  her  life  been  accus 
tomed  to  Parisian  luxury.  There  was  no  doubt  of  her  gracing 
Millbank  or  any  other  home,  and  Frank  each  time  he  saw  her 
felt  more  than  repaid  for  the  piles  and  piles  of  money  which 
he  paid  out  for  her. 

At  Millbank  there  was  also  dressmaking  proceeding  on  a 
grand  scale,  and  though  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  wardrobe  differed 
somewhat  from  Bell's,  inasmuch  as  it  was  soberer  and  older,  — 
the  silks  were  just  as  heavy  and  rich,  and  the  laces  just  as 
expensive.  New  furniture,  new  table-linen,  and  new  silver 
came  almost  daily  to  Millbank,  together  with  new  pictures,  for 
one  of  which  the  sum  of  two  thousand  dollars  was  paid.  When 
old  Hester  Floyd  heard  of  that  she  could  keep  quiet  no  longer, 
but  vowed  "  she  would  go  to  Belvidere  and  visit  Mrs.  Peter 
Slocum,  who  was  a  distant  connection,  and  would  be  glad  to 
have  her  a  spell,  especially  as  she  meant  to  pay  her  way." 

When  Hester  resolved  to  do  a  thing  she  generally  did  it, 
and  as  she  was  resolved  to  go  to  Belvidere  she  at  once  set 
herself  to  prepare  for  the  journey. 


THE   WEDDING.  345 

CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

THE    WEDDING,    AND    HESTER    FLOYD'S    ACCOl  NT   OF   IT. 

OGER  had  written  to  Frank,  congratulating  him  upon 
his  approaching  marriage,  but  declining  to  be  present 
at  the  wedding.  He  wished  to  know  as  little  as  pos 
sible  of  the  affairs  at  Millbank,  and  tried  to  dissuade  Hester 
from  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Slocum.  But  Hester  would  go,  and 
three  days  before  the  great  event  came  off  she  was  installed  in 
Mrs.  Slocum's  best  chamber,  and  had  presented  that  worthy 
woman  with  six  bottles  of  canned  fruit,  ten  yards  of  calico,  and 
an  old  coat  of  Aleck's,  which,  she  said,  would  cut  over  nicely 
for  Johnny,  Mrs.  Slocum's  youngest  boy.  After  these  presents, 
Hester  felt  that  she  was  not  "  spunging,"  as  she  called  it,  and 
settled  herself  quietly  to  visit,  and  to  reconnoitre,  and  watch 
the  proceedings  at  Millbank.  And  there  was  enough  to  occu 
py  her  time  and  keep  her  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

The  house  had  been  painted  brown,  and  Hester  inveighed 
against  that,  and  scolded  about  the  shrubbery,  which  had  been 
removed,  and  cried  a  little  over  the  trees  which,  at  Bell's  in 
stigation,  had  been  cut  down  to  open  a  finer  view  of  the  river 
from  the  rooms  appropriated  to  the  bride.  Into  these  rooms 
Hester  at  last  penetrated,  as  well  as  into  all  parts  of  the  house. 
Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  gone  to  Boston,  and  Frank  had  gone 
with  her.  Hester  saw  them  as  they  drove  by  Mrs.  Slocum's  in 
their  elegant  new  carriage,  with  their  white-gloved  colored 
driver  on  the  box,  and  she  had  represented  her  blood  as  "  bilin' 
like  a  caldron  kettle,  to  see  them  as  had  no  business  a-ridin' 
through  the  country  and  spending  Roger's  money." 

She  knew  where  they  were  going,  and  that  the  coast  was  clear 

at  Millbank,  and  with  Mrs.  Slocum,  who  was  on  good  terms 

with  the  housekeeper,  she  went  there  that  afternoon  and  saw 

"  such  sights  as  her  eyes  never  expected  to  see  while  she  lived." 

'5* 


346  THE    WEDDING. 

"  I  mean  to  write  to  Magdalen  and  let  her  know  just  what 
carryin's  on  there  is  here,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Slocum ;  and  she 
commenced  a  letter  that  night,  telling  Magdalen  where  she 
was,  and  what  she  was  there  for,  and  not  omitting  to  speak  of 
the  "  things "  she  had  brought,  and  which  would  pay  for  what 
little  she  ate  for  a  week  or  two. 

"  Such  alterations  ! "  she  wrote.  "  The  house  as  brown  as 
my  hands,  and  a  picter  in  it  that  cost  two  thousan'  dollars,  the 
awfullest  daub,  I  reckon,  that  ever  was  got  up.  Why,  I  had 
rather  a  hundred  times  have  that  picter  in  my  room  of  Put 
nam  goin'  in  after  the  wolf;  that  means  somethin',  and  this 
one  don't.  But  the  rooms  for  the  bride,  they  are  just  like  a 
show-house,  I'm  sure,  with  their  painted  walls  and  frisky 
work,  I  b'lieve,  they  call  it,  and  the  lam-kins  at  the  winders, 
fifty  dollars  a  winder,  as  I'm  a  livin'  woman,  and  a  naked  boy 
in  one  of  'em  holdin'  a  pot  of  flowers  on  his  head  ;  and  then 
her  boode'r  or  anything  under  heavens  you  are  a  mind  to  call 
that  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  upper  south  hall,  and  which 
opens  out  of  her  sleepin'  room.  There's  a  glass  as  long  as  she 
is  set  in  a  recess  like,  and  in  the  door  opposite  is  a  lookin'- 
glass,  and  in  the  door  on  t'other  side,  —  three  lookin' -glasses  in 
all,  so  that  you  can  see  yourself  before  and  behind  and  beside, 
and  silk  ottermans,  and  divans  and  marble  shelves  and  drawers, 
and  a  chair  for  her  to  sit  in  and  be  dressed,  and  she's  got  a 
French  waitin'-maid,  right  from  Paris,  they  say,  and  some  of 
her  underclothes  cost  a  hundred  dollars  apiece,  think  of  that, 
when  three  yards  of  factory  would  make  plenty  good  enough 
and  last  enough  sight  longer.  I'm  glad  I  don't  have  to  iron 
'em ;  they've  got  a  flutin'-iron  they  paid  thirty  dollars  for,  and 
Miss  Franklin's  bed,  that  is  to  be,  is  hung  with  silk  curtains.  I 
should  s'pose  she'd  want  a  breath  of  air ;  the  dear  knows  I 
should;  and  one  of  the  rooms  they've  turned  into  a  picter 
galleiy,  and  the  likenesses  of  the  Burleighs  is  there  now, 
'cause  Mrs.  Franklin  must  have  'em  to  look  at.  There's  her 
granny,  a  decent-lookin'  woman  enough,  with  powdered  hair, 
and  her  husband  took  when  he  was  younger,  and  her  mothei 


THE    WEDDING.  347 

in  her  weddin'  close,  exactly  the  fashion,  I  remember,  and  her 
father  and  herself  when  she  was  younger  by  a  good  many  years 
than  she  is  now,  for  them  as  has  seen  her  says  she's  thirty  if 
she's  a  day,  and  Frank  ain't  quite  twenty-eight." 

There  was  a  break  just  here  in  Hester's  epistle.  She  had  de 
cided  to  remain  with  Mrs.  Slocmn  until  after  the  party  which 
wss  to  be  given  for  the  bride  at  Millbank  as  soon  as  she  re 
turned  from  her  wedding  trip,  ?nd  so  she  concluded  not  to 
finish  her  letter  until  she  had  seen  and  could  report  the  doings. 
The  wedding  day  was  faultlessly  fair;  not  a  cloud  broke  the  deep 
blue  of  the  summer  sky,  and  the  air  had  none  of  the  sultry  heat 
of  July,  but  was  soft  and  balmy,  and  pure  from  the  effects  of  the 
thunder-shower  of  the  previous  day.  If  the  bride  be  blessed 
on  whom  the  sun  shines,  Bell  Burkigh  was  surely  blessed  and 
ought  to  have  been  happy.  There  was  no  cloud  on  her  brow, 
no  brooding  shadow  of  regret  in  her  dark  eyes,  and  if  she  sent 
a  thought  across  the  seas  after  the  Fred  whose  life  of  toil  she 
would  once  have  shared  so  gladly,  it  did  not  show  itself 
upon  her  face,  which  belied  Hester's  hint  of  thirty  years,  and 
was  all  aglow  with  excitement.  She  made  a  beautiful  bride, 
and  the  length  of  her  train  was  for  days  and  days  the  theme  of 
gossip  among  the  crowd  who  saw  it  as  she  walked  from  the 
carriage  to  the  church  upon  the  carpets  spread  down  for  the 
occasion.  She  wore  no  ornaments,  but  flowers.  Her  dia 
monds,  and  pearls,  and  rubies,  and  amethysts  were  reserved  for 
other  occasions,  and  she  looked  very  simple  and  elegant  and 
self-possessed,  and  made  her  responses  in  a  firmer,  clearer 
voice  than  Frank.  He  was  nervous,  and  thought  of  Magdalen, 
and  was  glad  she  and  Alice  had  made  their  mother's  recent  death 
an  excuse  for  not  being  present,  and  wondered  if  her  voice 
would  have  been  as  loud  and  steady  as  Bell's  when  she  said, 
"  I,  Isabel,  take  thee,  Franklin,"  and  so  forth.  On  the  whole, 
the  occasion  was  a  trying  one  for  him  ;  his  .gloves  were  too 
tight,  and  his  boots  were  tighter  and  made  him  want  to  scream 
every  time  he  stepped,  they  hurt  his  feet  so  badly.  He  took 
them  off  when  he  returned  from  the  church,  and  thus  relieved, 


348  THE    WEDDING. 

felt  easier,  and  could  see  how  beautiful  his  new  wife  was,  and 
how  well  she  bore  her  honors,  and  felt  proud  and  happy,  and 
did  not  think  again  of  Magdalen,  but  rather  what  a  lucky 
fellow  he  was  to  have  all  the  money  he  wanted  and  such  a 
bride  as  Bell. 

They  were  going  West  for  a  week  or  two,  then  back  to  Mill- 
bank  for  a  few  days,  and  then  to  Saratoga  or  the  sea-side,  just 
where  the  fancy  led  them.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  returned  to 
Millbank  and  sent  out  a  few  cards  to  the  'elite  of  the  town, 
the  Johnsons,  and  Markhams,  and  Woodburys,  and  the  clergy 
man  and  her  family  physician.  As  for  the  nobodys,  they  were 
not  expected  to  call,  and  they  consoled  themselves  with  in 
vidious  remarks  and  watching  the  proceedings. 

On  Sunday  the  Irving  pew  was  graced  by  Mrs.  Walter  Scott. 
who  wore  a  new  bonnet  and  a  silk  which  rustled  with  every  step. 
She  was  very  devout  that  day,  and  made  a  large  thank-offering 
for  her  new  daughter-in-law,  a  crisp  ten-dollar  bill,  given  so  that 
all  who  cared  could  see  and  know  it  was  a  ten.  She  did  not  see 
Hester  Floyd  until  service  was  out,  —  then  she  started  a  little 
as  the  old  lady  stepped  into  the  aisle  before  her,  but  offered 
her  hand  cordially,  and  felt  that  she  was  very  good,  and  very 
pious,  and  very  democratic  to  walk  out  of  church  in  close  con 
versation  with  Hester,  whom  she  invited  to  come  and  see  the 
changes  they  had  made  in  the  house,  and  stop  to  tea,  if  she 
liked,  with  the  housekeeper. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  had  nothing  to  fear  from  Hester  now,  and 
could  afford  to  be  very  gracious,  but  the  old  lady  was  neither 
deceived  nor  elated  with  her  attention.  She  had  been  to  the 
house,  she  said,  rather  crisply,  and  seen  all  she  wanted  to,  and 
she  did  think  they  might  have  let  some  of  the  rooms  alone  and 
not  fixed  'em  up  like  a  play-house,  and  she'd  cover  up  that  naked 
boy  in  Mrs.  Franklin's  room  before  she  got  there,  for  if  she  was 
a  modest  woman,  as  was  to  be  hoped,  she'd  feel  ashamed.  And 
then,  having  reached  the  new  carriage,  with  its  white-gloved 
driver,  the  two  women  said  good-day  to  each  other,  and  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott's  dove- colored  silk  was  put  carefully  into  the  car- 


THE    WEDDING.  349 

riage  by  the  footman,  and  the  door  was  closed  and  the  two  shin 
ing  horses  were  off  like  the  wind,  leaving  Hester  to  watch  the 
cloud  of  dust  and  the  flash  of  the  wheels  which  marked  the 
progress  of  the  fast-moving  vehicle. 

The  particulars  of  this  interview  were  faithfully  recorded  for 
Magdalen's  benefit,  the  old  lady  breaking  the  Sabbath  for  the 
sake  of  "  writing  while  the  thing  was  fresh  in  her  mind"  and 
she  could  do  it  justice. 

Ten  days  more  went  by,  and  then  it  was  reported  in  the 
street  that  the  workmen  in  the  shoe-shop  and  factory  were  to 
have  a  holiday  on  Thursday  in  honor  of  their  master's  return  to 
Millbank  with  his  bride.  It  was  whispered,  too,  that  in  his  let 
ter  to  his  foreman  Frank  had  hinted  that  some  kind  of  a  dem 
onstration  on  his  arrival  would  be  very  appropriate  and  accept 
able,  and  if  his  agents  would  see  to  it  he  would  defray  any  ex 
pense  they  might  incur  for  him.  Some  of  the  workmen  laughed, 
and  some  sneered,  and  some  said  openly  they  had  no  demon 
stration  to  make,  but  all  accepted  the  holiday  willingly  enough, 
and  a  few  of  the  young  men,  with  all  the  boys,  decided  to  get  up 
a  bonfire  and  fireworks,  on  a  large  scale,  inasmuch  as  the  bill 
was  to  be  paid  by  "  the  Gov." 

Accordingly  a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  fireworks  were  ordered 
from  Springfield,  and  Frank,  who  came  about  eight  o'clock, 
was  greeted  with  a  rocket  which  went  hissing  into  the  air  and 
fell  in  sparks  of  fire  just  over  his  shoe-shop,  the  shingles  of 
which  were  dry  with  age  and  the  summer  heat.  There  was  a 
crowd  after  all  to  honor  him,  and  an  impromptu  band,  which 
played  "  Hail  to  the  Chief,"  and  "  Come,  Haste  to  the  Wed 
ding,"  and  finished  up  with  a  grand  flourish  of  "  Dixie,"  to 
which  many  bare  feet  kept  time  upon  the  lawn  in  front  of  Mill- 
bank.  A  collation,  which  Hester  in  her  journal-letter  called  a 
"  collection,"  had  been  prepared  for  them  on  the  grounds,  and 
the  small  boys  ate  themselves  almost  sick  on  ice-cream  and 
raisins,  and  then  halloed  with  might  and  main  for  the  bride,  who 
appeared,  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  smiling  and  bowing, 
and  offering  her  hand  to  be  shaken,  while  all  the  while  she  was 


350  THE    WEDDING. 

wondering  if  "the  miserable  little  wretches  hadn't  warts  or  some 
worse  disease  which  she  would  catch  of  them." 

The  collation  over,  the  bridal  party  returned  to  the  house, 
and  the  crowd  went  back  to  their  fireworks,  to  which  the  tired 
and  slightly  disgusted  Bell  hardly  gave  a  look.  She  had  the 
headache,  and  went  early  to  her  room,  and  closing  her  blinds  to 
shut  out  the  glare  of  the  blue  and  red  lights  which  annoyed  her 
terribly,  she  fell  asleep,  and  was  dreaming  of  the  missionary 
Fred  when  the  cry  of  "  Fire,  Fire,"  aroused  her,  and  Frank 
looked  in  with  a  white,  frightened  face,  telling  her  the  large 
shoe-shop  was  on  fire,  and  bidding  her  not  to  be  alarmed. 
Some  sparks  from  the  first  rocket  sent  up  had  fallen  on  the  dry 
roof  of  the  shoe-shop,  and  set  it  on  fire,  the  flames  creeping 
under  the  shingles,  and  making  great  headway  before  they 
were  discovered.  It  was  a  long  time  since  there  had  been 
a  fire  in  Belvidere,  and  the  excited  people  hardly  knew 
how  to  act.  Roger  had  always  been  tolerably  well  pre 
pared  for  such  an  emergency,  but  matters  at  Millbank  were 
managed  differently  now  from  what  they  were  when  he  was 
master  there.  The  rotary  pump  was  out  of  order,  the  engine 
would  not  work  well  at  all,  and  after  half  an  hour  or  more  of 
orders  and  counter-orders,  of  running  to  and  fro,  and  accom 
plishing  but  little,  it  was  certain  that  nothing  could  save  the  huge 
building,  whose  roof  was  one  mass  of  flame,  and  from  whose 
windows  a  light  was  shining  brighter  than  any  bonfire  ever  yet 
kindled  in  honor  of  a  bride.  When  Frank  had  hinted  at  dem 
onstrations,  for  which  he  would  pay,  he  never  dreamed  of  a 
bonfire  like  this,  where  jets  of  flame  rose  far  into  the  sky  and 
shone  across  the  river  upon  the  hills  beyond,  and  made  the  vil 
lage  as  light  as  day.  Bell  never  went  to  fires,  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott,  who,  in  her  dressing-gown,  with  her  shawl  over 
her  head,  looked  in  upon  her  daughter-in-law  on  her  way  to  join 
the  multitude  in  the  streets.  She  was  too  thoroughly  city  bred 
to  go  to  fires,  and  she  saw  every  member  of  the  household  de 
part,  —  her  bridesmaids,  sister  Grace  and  all ;  and  then,  as  from 


THE   WEDDING.  351 

her  bed  she  could  see  the  whole,  she  lay  down  among  her  pil 
lows  and  rather  enjoyed  watching  the  flames,  as  they  attacked 
first  one  part  of  the  building  and  then  another,  making  the  sight 
every  moment  more  beautiful  and  grand.  It  never  occurred  to 
her  how  much  of  her  husband's  fortune  might  be  consuming  be 
fore  her  very  eyes,  and  when  toward  morning  he  came  up  to 
her,  pale,  smoke-stained,  and  burned,  she  merely  asked  what 
time  it  was,  and  how  he  could  bear  to  stay  so  long  where  he 
could  do  no  good. 

Frank's  first  thought,  when  he  saw  the  fire,  was  of  Holt  and 
the  insurance.  During  his  wedding  tour,  he  had  heard  that  the 
company  in  which  his  shop  was  insured  had  failed,  and  he  had 
telegraphed  at  once  to  Holt  "  to  see  to  it,  and  insure  in  another 
company."  Since  his  return  he  had  not  thought  of  the  matter 
until  now,  when  something  told  him  that  his  orders  had  been 
neglected,  and  that  if  the  building  burned  his  loss  would  be 
heavy.  Taking  off  his  coat,  he  had  worked  like  a  hero,  and 
done  much  to  inspirit  his  men,  who,  encouraged  by  his  intre 
pidity,  had  followed  wherever  he  led  and  done  whatever  he  bade 
them  do.  But  it  was  all  in  vain,  and  Frank  went  back  to  Mill- 
bank  a  poorer  man  by  many  thousands  than  the  setting  of  the 
sun  had  found  him,  while  a  hundred  people  or  more  were 
thrown  out  of  employment,  and  suddenly  found  themselves 
with  nothing  to  do. 

In  this  emergency  their  thoughts  turned  to  Roger.  They  had 
heard  that  a  large  shoe  manufactory  was  in  process  of  erection 
at  Schodick,  and  that  Roger  was  to  have  the  superintendence  of 
it,  and  never  before  had  there  been  so  heavy  a  mail  sent  from 
Belvidere  as  there  was  the  day  following  the  fire.  More  than 
forty  men  wrote  to  Roger,  telling  him  of  the  disaster,  asking 
for  situations  under  him,  and  offering  to  work  for  less  than  they 
had  been  receiving.  To  many  of  these  favorable  answers  were 
returned,  and  the  consequence  was  that  the  tide  of  emigration 
from  Belvidere  to  Schodick  set  in  at  once,  and  a  number  of 
Frank's  houses  were  left  tenantless  on  his  hands.  The  party, 
however,  came  off  the  following  week,  and  servants  were  im- 


352  THE    WEDDINO. 

ported  from  New  York,  with  cake  and  flowers  and  fruit,  and  a 
band  came  out  from  Springfield,  and  lights  were  hung  in  every 
tree  upon  the  lawn  and  boys  hired  to  watch  them,  for  Frank 
had  learned  a  lesson  from  the  still  smouldering  ruins  of  his  shop, 
and  was  exceedingly  nervous  and  uncomfortable  on  the  subjecl 
of  fires  and  lights,  and  read  a  lesson  on  caution  to  his  mother 
and  the  servants  and  all  the  family,  save  his  wife.  There  wa? 
something  in  her  black  eyes  which  prevented  his  taking  liber 
ties  with  her,  and  her  lamp  was  suffered  to  remain  in  close 
proximity  to  the  lace  curtains  of  her  room,  and  he  did  not  say  a 
word. 

Roger  wrote  to  his  nephew  immediately  after  the  fire,  ex 
pressing  his  sorrow,  and  consoling  him  by  saying  he  could 
afford  to  lose  the  shop  and  still  be  the  richest  man  in  the 
county.  Frank  thought  of  the  piles  and  piles  of  money  he  had 
spent,  and  wondered  what  Roger  would  say  could  he  know  of 
all  his  extravagances.  But  Roger  did  not  know,  and  his  letter 
comforted  Frank,  .who,  after  reading  it,  felt  better  than  he  had 
before  since  the  fire,  and  who  was  quite  like  himself  on  the  night 
when,  with  his  bride,  he  stood  to  receive  the  congratulations  of 
his  dear  four  hundred  friends  who  came  from  Boston  and  Wor 
cester  and  Springfield  and  Hartford  and  New  York,  but  not 
many  from  Belvidere.  A  few  only  of  the  citizens  were  consid 
ered  good  enough  to  enter  the  charmed  presence  and  take  the 
white  hand  on  which  a  thousand-dollar  ring  was  shining.  Bell 
wore  her  diamonds  that  night,  her  husband's  bridal  present,  for 
which  ten  thousand  dollars  were  paid,  and  she  shone  and  flashed 
and  sparkled,  and  turned  her  proud  head  proudly,  and  never 
spoke  to  Frank  when  she  could  help  it,  but  talked  instead  with 
her  old  friends  from  Boston,  —  scholars  and  professors,  whose 
discourse  she  found  far  more  congenial  than  Frank's  common 
places  were. 

It  was  a  grand  affair,  and  old  Hester,  who  was  at  the  house, 
and  from  the  kitchen  and  side  passages  saw  much  that  was 
going  on,  added  to  her  journal  a  full  account  of  it,  after  having 
described  the  fire,  which  she  said  was  "just  a  judgment  from 


THE  WEDDING.  353 

the  Lord."  Hesler  had  rather  enjoyed  the  fire,  and  felt  as  u 
justice  was  being  meted  out  to  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  cried 
and  wrung  her  hands,  and  reproached  the  people  for  standing 
idle  and  seeing  her  son's  property  burned  before  their  eyes. 
Hester  ached  to  give  her  a  piece  of  her  mind,  but  contented 
herself  with  saying  in  her  presence,  "  that  folks  didn't  seem 
very  anxious.  She  guessed  if  it  had  been  Roger's  shop  they'd 
have  stepped  more  lively,  and  not  sat  on  the  fence,  a  whole 
batch  on  'em,  doin'  nothin'." 

"  I  was  a  little  mad  at 'em,"  she  wrote  to  Magdalen,  "and 
felt  pretty  bad  when  the  ruff  tumbled  in,  but  I  didn't  screech  as 
that  woman  (meaning  Mrs.  Walter  Scott)  did.  She  nigh  about 
fainted  away,  and  they  carried  her  into  Miss  Perkins's  house  and 
flung  water  in  her  face  till  them  curls  of  hern  were  just  nothin' 
but  strings.  T'other  one,  Miss  Franklin,  wasn't  there,  and  I 
heard  that  she  lay  abed  the  whole  time  and  watched  it  from  the 
winder.  That'?  a  nice  wife  for  you.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  he'll  get 
his  pay  for  takin'  the  property  from  Roger,  and  givin'  such  a 
party  as  he  did,  and  only  invitin'  fust  cut  in  town,  and  not  all 
of  them.  There  was  Miss  Jenks,  and  Miss  Smith  and  Miss 
Spencer  s' posed  of  course  they'd  have  an  invite,  and  Miss 
Jenks  got  her  a  new  gown  and  had  it  made  in  Hartford,  and 
then  wan't  bid ;  and  if  you'll  believe,  that  sneakin,'  low-lived, 
ill-begotten  horse-jockey  of  a  Holt  was  there,  and  his  wife,  with 
a  yeller  gownd  and  blue  flower  stuck  in  the  middle  of  her 
forehead.  How  he  came  to  be  bid  nobody  knows,  only  they 
say  he  and  Frank  is  thick  as  molasses,  and  agree  on  the  hoss 
question.  Madam's  sister  was  there,  a  pretty  enough  lookin' 
girl  with  yellow  curls  and  blue  eyes,  and  it's  talked  that  she's  to 
live  there,  and  the  whole  coboodle  of  'em.  A  nice  time  they'll 
have  with  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who  holds  her  head  so  high  that 
her  neck  must  sometimes  ache.  You  or*to  see  'em  ride  on 
horseback  to  Millbank ;  Miss  Franklin  in  black  velvet,  her  sis 
ter  in  blue,  and  even  old  madam  has  gone  at  it,  and  I  seen  her 
a  canterin'  by  on  a  chestnut  mare  that  cost  the  dear  knows  what. 
Think  on't,  a  woman  of  her  age,  with  a  round  hat  and  feather, 


354  ffOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLBANK. 

ridin'  a  boss.  It's  just  ridiculous,  I  call  it.  I'm  goin'  home  to 
morrow,  for  Roger  and  Aleck  is  gettin'  kind  of  uneasy.  Roget 
is  a  growin'  man.  He's  got  some  agency  in  the  mill  to  Scho- 
dick  and  the  shop,  and  he's  makin'  lots  of  money,  and  folks 
look  up  to  him  and  consult  him  till  he's  the  fust  man  in  town. 
I  wish  you  two  would  come  together  someday,  and  I  can't  help 
Ihinkin'  you  will.  Nothin'  would  suit  me  better,  though  I  was 
hard  on  you  once  about  the  will.  I  was  about  crazy  them  days, 
but  that's  all  got  along  with,  and  so  good-by. 

"  HESTER  FLOYD." 

"There  goes  the  quality  from  Millbank  out  to  have  a  picnic, 
and  the  young  madam  is  ridin'  with  another  man.  Nice  doin's 
so  soon,  though  I  don't  blame  her  for  bein'  sick  of  Frank.  He's 
growing  real  fat  and  pussy-like,  and  twists  up  them  few  white 
hairs  about  his  mouth  till  they  look  like  a  shoemaker's  waxed 
end.  "  Yours  again  to  command, 

«  H.  FLOYD." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HOW  THEY  LIVED   AT  MILLBANK. 

]RS.  WALTER  SCOTT  knew  nothing  of  the  hundred 
thousand  dollars  settled  upon  Bell,  or  of  the  arrange 
ment  for  the  entire  family  to  live  henceforth  at  Mill- 
bank.  She  was  well  pleased,  however,  to  have  Judge  Burleigh 
and  Grace  and  Charlie  there  for  a  few  days,  with  other  guests 
from  Boston  and  New  York.  They  were  a  part  of  the  wedding 
festivities,  and  she  enjoyed  the  eclat  of  having  so  many  young 
people  of  style  and  distinction  in  the  house,  and  enjoyed  show 
ing  them  off  at  church  and  in  the  street.  She  enjoyed  the 
grand  dinners,  too,  which  occupied  three  hours  and  for  which 
the  ladies  dressed  so  elaborately,  the  bride  wearing  something 
new  each  day,  and  astonishing  the  servants  with  the  length  ol 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLBANK.  355 

her  train  and  the  size  of  her  hoops,  and  she  enjoyed  for  a  time 
the  dance  and  the  song,  and  hilarity  in  the  evening,  but  she  be 
gan  at  last  to  grow  weary  of  it  all,  and  to  sigh  for  a  little  quiet  ; 
and  greatly  to  Frank's  surprise  and  Bell's  delight,  she  gave  up 
the  trip  to  Saratoga,  and  saw  the  bridal  party  depart  without  he*1 
one  morning  a  few  days  after  the  party. 

The  United  States  was  their  destination,  and  the  town  was 
soon  teeming  with  gossip  of  the  bride  who  sported  so  exquisite 
jewelry  and  wore  so  magnificent  dresses  and  snubbed  her 
husband  so  mercilessly.  Frank's  turn-out,  too,  was  com 
mented  on  and  admired,  and  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  know 
ing  that  his  carriage  and  his  horses  were  the  finest  in  town ; 
but  for  any  genuine  domestic  happiness  he  enjoyed,  he  might 
as  well  have  been  without  a  wife  as  with  one. 

One  day  Bell  expressed  a  desire  for  a  glass  of  water  from 
the  spring  on  the  grounds  of  the  Clarendon,  and  as  she  knew 
she  was  exquisitely  dressed,  and  sure  to  create  a  sensation  all 
along  the  street,  she  started  with  Grace  and  her  husband  for 
the  spring.  The  Clarendon  was  not  full,  though  it  had  the 
reputation  of  entertaining  the  very  creme  de  la  creme,  those  who 
preferred  cool  shades,  and  pure  air  and  fresh  furniture  and 
quiet,  to  the  glare  and  crowd  and  heat  and  fashion  farther 
down  town.  There  were  but  few  on  the  broad  piazza  that 
afternoon,  but  at  these  Bell  looked  curiously,  especially  at 
the  two  young  ladies  who  were  standing  with  their  backs  to  her, 
and  whom  she  at  once  decided  to  be  somebody.  Both  wore 
deep  mourning,  and  one  was  fair  with  chestnut  hair,  while  the 
braids  of  the  other  were  dark  and  glossy  and  abundant.  A 
white-haired  man  and  middle  aged  woman  were  sitting  near 
them,  and  a  tall,  fine-looking  young  man  was  standing  by  the 
shorter  of  the  young  ladies,  and  evidently  describing  something 
which  greatly  interested  all,  for  peals  of  laughter  were  occasion 
ally  heard  as  the  story  proceeded,  and  the  girl  with  the  chestnut 
hair  turned  her  head  a  little  more  toward  Bell,  and  also  toward 
Frank.  There  was  a  violent  start  on  his  part,  and  then  he  sug- 
gested  that  they  return  to  their  hotel.  But  Bell  insisted  upon  go- 


356  HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLBANK. 

ing  up  the  hill  and  occupying  some  vacant  chairs  upon  tlie  piazza. 
She  was  tired,  and  it  looked  so  cool  and  pleasant  there,  she 
said  in  that  tone  of  voice  which  Frank  always  obeyed,  and  with 
a  beating  heart  he  gave  her  his  arm  and  led  her  up  the  steep 
bank  and  put  her  in  her  chair  and  brought  another  for  Grace, 
and  fidgeted  about  and  managed  to  keep  his  back  toward  the 
group  which  he  knew  was  watching  him.  The  hum  of  their 
voices  had  ceased  as  he  drew  near  with  his  magnificent  bride, 
who  in  her  diamonds  and  costly  array  presented  so  striking  a 
contrast  to  the  two  plainly-dressed  young  ladies,  whom  Bell 
thought  so  beautiful,  wondering  greatly  who  they  were.  Frank 
knew  who  they  were,  and  stood  an  awkward  moment  and  tried 
not  to  see  them ;  then  with  a  great  gulp,  in  which  he  forced 
down  far  more  emotion  than  his  wife  ever  gave  him  credit  for 
possessing,  he  turned  toward  them,  accidentally  as  it  seemed, 
and  uttering  a  well-feigned  exclamation  of  surprise  went  forward 
to  meet  Alice  Grey  and  Magdalen. 

"  Speak  of  angels  and  you  hear  the  rustle  of  their  wings," 
Guy  said,  when  the  first  words  of  greeting  were  over.  "I 
was  talking  of  you,  or  rather  of  Mrs.  Irving,  whom  I  saw  at 
the  hop  last  night,  and  whose  beauty  and  dress  I  was  describ 
ing  to  these  rustic  country  girls." 

"  Oh,  yes,  certainly.  I  should  like  to  present  my  wife  to 
you,"  Frank  said,  his  spirits  rising  as  they  always  did  when  his 
wife  was  complimented. 

He  was  proud  of  her,  and  if  she  allowed  it,  would  have  been 
fond  of  her,  too ;  and  he  felt  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  and  pleasure 
that  she  was  looking  so  well  and  bore  herself  so  regally  as  he 
led  her  to  his  friends  and  introduced  her  as  "  My  wife,  Mrs. 
Irving." 

Bell  had  heard  of  the  Greys  and  knew  that  Alice  and  Mag 
dalen  were  fully  her  equals,  and  her  manner  was  very  soft  and 
gracious  towards  them  as  she  expressed  her  pleasure  in  meet 
ing  them.  Frank  brought  her  chair  for  her  and  placed  it  be 
tween  Alice  and  Magdalen,  and  held  her  parasol,  and  leaned 
over  her,  and  admired  her  so  much  as  almost  to  forget  the  cir- 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLBANK.  357 

cumstances  under  which  he  had  last  seen  Magdalen.  Bell  was 
veiy  ladylike,  very  gentle,  and  very  bright  and  witty  withal, 
and  the  Greys  were  perfectly  charmed  with  her,  and  wondered 
how  she  could  have  married  Frank,  who  in  point  of  intellect 
was  so  greatly  her  inferior. 

For  two  or  three  weeks  the  Greys  remained  at  Saratoga,  and 
during  that  time  they  saw  a  great  deal  of  the  Irvings,  while  be 
tween  Bell  and  the  Misses  Grey  there  sprang  up  a  strong  liking, 
which  was  very  strange,  considering  how  unlike  they  were  in 
almost  everything.  Once  Frank  spoke  to  Magdalen  of  Roger, 
who,  he  said,  was  getting  on  famously,  both  as  to  money  and 
reputation. 

"Why  don't  you  two  marry?"  he  asked  abruptly.  "You 
ought  to.  There's  nothing  in  the  way  that  I  can  see." 

Ere  Magdalen  could  reply,  they  were  joined  by  Alice,  but 
Frank  had  detected  that  in  her  manner  which  convinced  him 
that  her  love  for  Roger  was  unchanged. 

"Then  why  the  plague  don't  they  marry?"  he  said  to  him 
self.  "  It's  Roger's  fault,  I  know.  He's  afraid  she  is  not  will 
ing.  I  mean  to  write  and  tell  him  she  is.  I  owe  them  both 
something,  and  that's  the  way  I'll  pay  it ; "  and  that  afternoon 
Frank  did  commence  a  letter  to  Roger,  but  he  never  finished 
it,  for  dinner  came  on,  and  after  it  a  drive,  and  then  a  letter 
from  his  mother  urging  his  immediate  return,  as  the  hands  at  the 
mill  were  conducting  badly,  many  of  them  leaving  to  go  to 
Schodick,  and  others  taking  advantage  of  his  absence,  and  a 
drunken  overseer. 

Accordingly,  the  bridal  pair  went  back  to  Millbank,  and 
Grace  was  with  them,  and  Charlie  too  ;  while  Mr.  Burleigh, 
who  had  been  disposing  of  his  affairs  in  Boston,  came  in  a  few 
days,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  heard  Mrs.  Franklin  tell  the  ser 
vant  to  see  that  everything  was  in  order  in  "Judge  Burleigh's 
room ;  you  know  which  it  is,  the  one  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  ad 
joining  Charlie's." 

This  looked  as  if  there  was  an  understanding  between  Mrs, 
Franklin  and  Katy  with  regard  to  rooms,  while  the  quantity  of 


35^  HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLBANK. 

baggage  which  came  from  the  depot  in  the  express  wagon 
looked  very  much  as  if  the  Burleighs  had  come  for  good,  with 
no  intention  of  leaving.  This  was  a  condition  of  things  of 
which  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  approve ;  but  there  wa? 
something  in  the  gleam  of  Mrs.  Bell's  black  eyes  which  warned 
her  to  be  careful  what  she  said.  She  was  a  little  afraid  of  Bell 
and  so  kept  quiet  until  she  heard  from  her  own  maid  that  "  the 
old  gentleman"  was  putting  his  books  on  the  shelves,  which,  un 
known  to  her,  had  been  conveyed  into  his  room,  and  was 
arranging  a  lot  of  stones,  and  snails,  and  birds.  Then  she 
could  keep  still  no  longer,  but  attacked  her  son  with  the  ques 
tion  : 

"  Are  all  the  Burleighs  to  live  here  in  future  ?  I  did  not 
suppose  you  married  the  entire  family." 

Frank  had  looked  forward  to  a  time  when  some  such  ques 
tion  would  be  propounded  to  him,  and  was  glad  it  had  come. 
Once  he  had  been  afraid  of  his  mother,  and  he  was  still  a  good 
deal  in  awe  of  her  and  her  opinions,  but  upstairs  was  a  lady 
whom  he  feared  more,  though  she  had  never  spoken  to  him  ex 
cept  in  the  mildest,  softest  manner,  and  he  wisely  resolved  to 
let  his  mother  know  the  worst  which  had  befallen  her,  and  told 
her,  as  gently  as  possible,  and  with  the  tone  of  one  who  was 
communicating  a  piece  of  good  news,  that  the  Burleighs  were 
a  rather  singular  family,  very  strongly  attached  to  each  other  ; 
yes,  -very  strongly  attached,  that  they  never  had  been  sepa 
rated,  and  that  Bell  had  accepted  him  only  on  condition  that 
they  should  not  be  separated,  but  live  together  at  Millbank  as 
they  had  done  at  Boston. 

There  was  intense  scorn  in  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  eyes,  and 
in  her  voice,  as  she  said,  "  And  so  you  have  taken  upon  your 
self  the  maintenance  of  four  instead  of  one  !  " 

"Why,  no,  —  not  exactly, — that  is, — Judge  Burleigh  and 
Charlie,  and  —  yes,  and  Charlie  —  " 

Frank  was  getting  matters  somewhat  confused,  and  did  not 
quite  know  how  to  make  it  clear  to  his  mother's  mind  that 
Charlie  would  only  trouble  them  till  he  was  set  up  in  business, 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLS ANK.  359 

and  that  Judge  Burleigh's  society  and  the  pleasure  of  having  so 
polished  and  agreeable  a  gentleman  in  the  house  was  a  suffi 
cient  compensation  for  any  expense  he  might  be  to  them ;  but 
she  understood  him  at  last,  and  knew  that  the  Judge  and  Charlie 
were  there  for  good,  and  the  rooms  they  occupied  had  been 
fitted  up  expressly  for  them  without  a  reference  to  her  or  her 
wishes  in  the  matter.  Had  she  known  of  the  hundred  thousand 
madi  over  to  Bell  she  would  have  gone  mad.  As  it  was,  she 
flew  into  a  towering  passion,  accusing  Frank  of  being  in  lead 
ing-strings  and  henpecked,  and  threatening  to  leave  and  go 
back  to  New  York,  as  she  presumed  he  wished  she  would. 
Frank  did  not  wish  any  such  thing.  His  mother  was  more 
necessary  to  him  now  than  before  his  marriage,  for  he  was  gen 
erally  sure  of  her  sympathy,  which  was  more  than  he  could  say 
of  his  wife.  So  he  soothed  and  quieted  her  as  best  he  could, 
and  when  she  referred  to  his  recent  loss  by  fire,  and  asked  how 
he  could  burden  himself  with  so  large  a  family,  he  told  her  a 
lie,  and  said  he  should  be  able  to  recover  a  part  of  the  in 
surance,  and  that  even  if  he  did  not,  his  income  was  sufficient 
to  warrant  his  present  style  of  living,  and  she  need  have  no 
fears  for  him  ;  or  if  she  had,  he  would  settle  something  upon  her 
at  once,  so  that  in  case  he  failed  entirely  she  would  not  be 
penniless.  This  was  a  happy  thought,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
consented  to  be  mollified  and  let  the  Burleighs  remain  in  quiet 
in  consideration  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  bonds  and 
mortgages  and  railroad  stock  which  Frank  agreed  to  give  her, 
and  which  he  did  convey  that  very  day.  She  had  at  first  asked 
for  fifty  thousand,  but  had  agreed  to  be  satisfied  with  twenty- 
five,  and  Frank  went  to  his  dinner  a  poorer  man  by  over  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  than  he  had  been  when  Millbank 
came  into  his  possession.  His  wife's  settlement  and  his 
mother's,  and  his  recent  heavy  expenditures,  had  drawn  largely 
upon  his  means  for  procuring  ready  money  whenever  he  wanted 
it,  and  as  he  sat  at  his  table,  loaded  with  silver  and  groaning 
with  luxuries,  he  felt  almost  as  poor  as  he  had  done  in  days 
gone  by,  when  he  had  not  enough  to  pay  his  tailor  and  furnish 


360  HOW  THEY  LIVED   AT  MILLBANK. 

himself  wi:h  cigars.  And  still  he  was  rich  in  lands,  and  the 
mill,  and  houses,  and  he  tried  to  shake  off  his  feelings  of  de 
spondency  and  to  believe  himself  very  happy  with  that  beauti 
ful  wife  beside  him,  who  let  him  pare  her  peach  for  her,  and 
took  grapes  from  his  own  cluster,  and  playfully  pushed  the  wine 
bottle  aside  when  he  was  about  to  help  himself  for  a  second 
time. 

Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  cold  as  an  icicle,  and  not  all  the 
Judge's  suavity  of  manner  had  power  to  thaw  her.  She  had 
promised  not  to  say  anything  disagreeable  to  the  Burleighs,  but 
her  face  was  very  expressive  of  her  dislike,  and  she  could 
hardly  answer  either  the  Judge  or  Charlie  with  common  civility. 
She  did  not  object  to  Grace ;  and  she  was  even  guilty  of  wish 
ing  Frank's  choice  had  fallen  upon  the  younger  rather  than  the 
elder  sister,  against  whom  she  could,  as  yet,  bring  no  accusa 
tion,  but  whom  she  distrusted  and  secretly  feared.  Bell 
thoroughly  understood  her  mother-in-law,  and  knew  tolerably 
well  how  to  manage  her.  As  Frank's  wife,  she  was  mistress 
of  Millbank,  and  though  she  made  no  show  of  her  authority, 
her  power  was  felt  in  everything  ;  and  after  she  had  reigned  a 
month  or  more,  not  a  servant,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott's  own  maid,  went  to  their  former  mistress  for 
orders,  but  received  them  from  the  new  lady,  who  was  very 
popular  with  them,  and  who,  to  a  certain  extent,  was  popular 
in  town.  She  could  not  endure  most  of  the  people  by  whom 
she  was  surrounded ;  but  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  it 
was  better  to  be  admired  than  hated,  and  she  adopted  the  role 
of  Patroness,  or  Lady  Bountiful,  and  played  her  part  well,  as 
Frank  knew  by  his  purse,  so  often  drawn  from  when  Bell  and 
Grace  had  some  poor  family  on  their  hands. 

Grace  did  not  go  back  to  school.  Millbank  was  intolerable 
to  the  bride  without  the  presence  of  her  light-hearted,  merry 
little  sister ;  and  so  Grace  stayed  and  studied  at  home,  under 
a  governess,  to  whom  Frank  paid  five  hundred  dollars  a  year  ; 
and  paid  it  the  more  willingly  when  he  found  that  the  pretty 
Miss  North  admired  him  above  all  men,  and  was  not  averse  to 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  MILLBANK.  361 

receiving  compliments  from  him,  even  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife.  Bell  did  not  care  how  many  governesses  he  compli 
mented,  provided  he  did  not  say  his  soft  nothings  to  her.  Had 
he  affected  a  great  fondness  for  her,  and  bored  her  with  atten 
tions  and  caresses,  she  would  have  hated  him,  but  he  had 
sense  enough  to  see  that  love-making  was  not  her  style,  and  so 
he  contented  himself  with  being  the  possessor  of  the  beautiful 
and  expensive  article,  which  he  knew  better  than  to  handle  or 
touch.  She  was  always  very  polite  and  gracious  towards  him, 
but  after  a  few  weeks  he  ceased  to  pet  or  caress  her,  and 
almost  always  called  her  Mrs.  Irving,  and  studied  her  wishes  in 
everything,  except  in  the  matter  of  horses  and  Holt ;  there  he 
was  his  own  master,  and  did  as  he  liked,  and  bought  as  many 
horses  as  he  chose,  and  went  to  the  races,  and  bet  largely,  and 
made  Holt  his  chief  man  of  business,  and  gave  him  money  to 
expend  on  double  teams  and  single  teams,  and  trusted  him  im 
plicitly  ;  and  when  people  asked  where  Holt  got  his  means  to 
live  as  he  was  living  now,  Frank  had  no  suspicions  whatever, 
but  said,  "  Joe  Holt  was  a  first-rate  chap,  the  best  judge  and 
manager  of  horses  he  ever  saw,  and  ought  to  succeed  in  life." 

And  so  the  autumn  waned,  and  the  Christmas  holidays  were 
kept  at  Millbank  on  a  grand  scale,  and  young  people  were 
there  from  Boston,  —  friends  of  Grace  and  friends  of  Bell,  — 
and  the  festivities  were  kept  up  sometimes  till  two  or  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  some  of  the  young  men  became 
very  noisy  and  unmanageable,  and  among  them  Charlie,  while 
Frank  was  undeniably  drunk,  and  was  carried  to  his  room  and 
given  into  the  care  of  his  wife  !  Then  Bell  rose  in  her  might,  and 
locked  up  the  wine  and  sent  the  fast  young  men  home,  and 
gave  Charlie  a  lecture  he  never  forgot,  and  made  him  join  the 
Good  Templars  forthwith,  and  what  was  better,  macle  him  keep 
the  pledge.  What  she  did  to  Frank  nobody  knew,  —  locked 
him  up,  the  servants  said.  At  all  events,  he  kept  his  room  for 
two  days,  and  only  came  out  pf  it  after  tlae  New  Yorkers  were 
gone  to  their  respective  homes.  Then  he  looked  very  meek 
and  crestfallen,  like  a  naughty  boy  who  has  been  punished,  an^ 


362  ROGER. 

his  mother  pitied  him  and  tried  to  sympathize,  and  made  hirn 
so  very  angry  that  he  was  guilty  of  swearing  at  her,  and  bidding 
her  let  him  and  Bell  and  their  affairs  alone.  And  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  did  let  them  alone  for  a  while,  and  stayed  a  great  deal  in 
her  own  room,  and  had  her  meals  served  there,  and  took  to 
writing  a  book,  for  which  she  always  thought  she  had  a  talent. 
It  was  about  mismated  people,  and  the  good  heroine  looked 
very  much  like  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  and  the  bad  one  like  Mrs. 
Franklin  Irving,  while  the  villain  was  a  compound  of  Judge 
"Rurleigh,  and  Charlie,  and  Holt,  the  horse  jockey. 


CHAPTER  L. 

ROGER. 

RANK  had  invited  Roger  to  spend  Christmas  at  Mill- 
bank,  but  Roger  had  declined,  and  had  passed  the 
holidays  in  his  usual  way  at  Schodick,  where  there 
had  come  to  him  a  letter  from  Arthur  Grey,  who,  in  referring 
to  the  past,  exonerated  Jessie  from  all  blame,  and  asked 
Roger's  forgiveness  for  the  great  wrong  done  to  him.  Then  he 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness  to  Magdalen,  and  closed  by  say 
ing  : 

"  Magdalen  has  been  very  anxious  for  you  to  come  to 
Beechwood,  and  I  should  now  extend  an  invitation  for  you  to 
do  so,  were  it  not  that  we  have  decided  to  leave  at  once  for 
Europe.  We  sail  in  the  '  Persia'  next  week,  immediately  after 
my  daughter's  marriage,  which  will  be  a  very  quiet  affair. 
Hoping  to  see  and  know  you  at  some  future  time,  I  am 

"  Yours  truly,  ARTHUR  GREY." 

This  letter  had  been  delayed  for  some  reason,  and  it  did  not 
reach  Roger  until  a  week  after  it  was  written,  and  then  there 


ROGER.  363 

came  in  the  same  mail  a  newspaper  from  New  York,  directed 
by  Magdalen  herself.  Around  a  short  paragraph  was  the  fainl 
tracing  of  her  pencil,  and  Roger  read  that  among  the  passen 
gers  the  "Persia"  would  take  out  were  Mr.  Arthur  Grey  and 
daughter,  Mrs.  Penelope  Seymour,  and  Mr.  Guy  Seymour  and 
lady.  Magdalen  had  underscored  the  "  Mr.  Guy  Seymour  and 
lady,"  and  upon  the  margin  had  written  : 

"  Good-by,  Roger,  good-by." 

When  Roger  read  Mr.  Grey's  letter  he  had  felt  sure  that  the 
daughter  to  whose  marriage  reference  was  made  was  Magdalen 
herself,  and  the  newspaper  paragraph  and  pencil-marks  con 
firmed  him  in  this  belief. 

"  Good-by,  Roger,  good-by." 

His  white  lips  whispered  the  words,  which  seemed  to  run  into 
each  other  and  grow  dim  and  blurred  as  the  great  tears  gath 
ered  in  his  eyes  and  obscured  his  vision. 

"  Good-by,  Roger,  good-by." 

Yes,  it  was  good-by  forever  now,  and  he  felt  it  in  its  full 
force,  and  bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands  and  asked  for 
strength  to  bear  this  new  pain,  which  yet  was  not  new,  for  he 
had  long  .felt  that  Magdalen  was  not  for  him.  But  the  pain, 
though  old,  was  keener,  harder  to  bear,  and  hurt  as  it  had  never 
hurt  before,  for  now  the  barrier  between  them,  as  he  believed, 
was  a  husband,  and  that  for  a  time  seemed  worse  than  death. 

Again  the  rock  under  the  evergreen  on  the  hillside  witnessed 
the  tears  and  the  prayers  and  the  anguish  of  the  man  whose 
face  began  to  look  old  and  worn,  and  who,  the  people  said, 
was  working  too  hard  and  had  taken  too  much  upon  his  hands. 
He  was  the  superintendent  now  of  the  cotton  mill,  which  had 
been  enlarged,  and  of  the  shoe- shop  erected  since  his  residence 
in  Schodick.  His  profession,  too,  was  not  neglected,  and  the 
little  office  on  the  green  still  bore  his  name,  and  all  the  farmers 
for  miles  around  asked  for  "  Squire  Irving,"  as  they  called  him, 
when  they  came  into  town  on  business  pertaining  to  the  law. 
His  word  was  trusted  before  that  of  any  other.  What  Squire 
Irving  said  was  true,  and  no  one  thought  of  dov.bting  it.  To 


364  ROGER. 

him  the  widows  came  on  behalf  of  their  fatherless  children,  and 
he  listened  patiently  and  advised  them  always  for  the  best,  and 
took  charge  of  their  slender  means  and  made  the  most  of  them. 
The  interests  of  orphan  children,  too,  were  committed  to  his 
care,  so  that  he  fortunately  had  little  time  to  indulge  in  senti 
ment  or  sorrow,  except  at  night,  when  the  day's  labor  was  over, 
and  he  was  free  to  dwell  upon  the  hopes  of  the  past,  the  bitter 
disappointment  of  the  present,  and  the  dreariness  of  the  future. 

After  that  paragraph  in  the  newspaper  he  had  heard  nc 
more  of  the  Greys,  and  had  only  mentioned  them  once.  Then 
he  told  Hester  of  Magdalen's  marriage  with  the  young  man  who 
had  come  to  see  them,  and  whom  Hester  remembered  per 
fectly. 

Hester  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it,  she  said  ;  but  Roger  re 
plied  that  Magdalen  herself  had  sent  him  the  paper,  while  Mr. 
Grey  had  written,  so  there  could  be  no  mistake.  Then  Hester 
accepted  it  as  a  fact,  and  looking  in  her  boy's  face  and  seeing 
there  the  pain  he  tried  so  hard  to  suppress,  she  felt  her  own 
heart  throbbing  with  a  keener  regret  and  sense  of  loss  than  she 
would  have  felt  if  Roger  had  not  cared  so  much. 

"  That  settles  the  business  for  him,"  she  said.  "  He'll  never 
marry  now,  and  I  may  as  well  send  off  to  the  heathen  that 
cribby  quilt  I've  been  piecin'  at  odd  spells,  thinkin'  the  time 
might  come  when  Roger's  wife  would  find  it  handy." 

And  as  she  thus  soliloquized  old  Hester  washed  her  tea- 
dishes  by  the  kitchen  sink  and  two  great  tears  rolled  down  her 
nose  and  dropped  into  the  dish  water.  After  that  she  never 
mentioned  Magdalen,  and  as  the  quilt  was  not  quite  finished, 
she  laid  it  away  in  the  candle-box  cradle  which  stood  in  the 
attic  chamber,  and  over  which  she  sometimes  bent  for  five  min 
utes  or  more,  while  her  thoughts  were  back  in  the  past ;  and 
she  saw  again  the  little  girl  who  had  sat  so  often  in  that  cradle, 
and  whose  dear  little  feet  were  wandering  now  amid  the  won 
ders  of  the  Old  World. 

And  so  the  winter,  and  the  spring,  and  the  summer  went  by, 
and  in  the  autumn  Frank  came  for  a  few  days  to  Schcdick, 


ROGER.  365 

looking  almost  as  old  as  Roger,  and  a  great  deal  stoute'r  and 
redder  in  the  face  than  when  we  saw  him  last ;  while  a  certain 
inflamed  look  in  the  eye  told  that  Bell's  arguments  on  the  sub 
ject  of  temperance  had  not  prevailed  with  him  as  effectually  as 
they  had  with  her  brother  Charlie.  Frank's  love  of  wine  had 
increased  and  grown  into  a  fondness  for  brandy,  but  during  his 
stay  in  Schodick  he  abstained  from  both,  and  seemed  much 
like  himself.  Very  freely  he  discussed  his  affairs  with  Roger, 
who  pitied  him  from  his  heart,  for  he  saw  that  his  life  was  not 
a  pleasant  one. 

With  regard  to  his  domestic  troubles,  Roger  forbore  to  make 
any  remarks,  but  he  advised  to  the  best  of  his  ability  about 
the  business  matters,  which  were  not  in  a  very  good  condition. 
The  shoe-shop  had  not  been  rebuilt ;  there  was  always  trouble 
with  the  factory  hands ;  they  were  either  quitting  entirely,  or 
striking  for  higher  wages  ;  and  the  revenues  were  not  what 
Frank  thought  they  ought  to  be.  Ready  money  was  hard  to 
get;  and  he  was  oftentimes  troubled  for  means  to  pay  the  house 
hold  expenses,  which  were  frightfully  large.  As  well  as  he 
could,  Roger  comforted  the  disheartened  man,  and  promised  to 
go  to  Millbank  soon  and  see  what  he  could  do  toward  smooth 
ing  and  lubricating  the  business  machinery,  and  Frank  while 
listening  to  him  began  to  feel  very  hopeful  of  the  future,  and 
grew  light-hearted  and  cheerful  again,  and  ready  to  talk  of 
something  besides  himself.  And  so  it  came  about,  as  he  sat 
with  Roger  one  evening,  he  said  to  him  : 

"  By  the  way,  Roger,  do  you  ever  hear  from  the  Greys  ? 
Do  you  know  where  they  are  ?  " 

Roger  did  not ;  he  had  never  heard  from  them,  or  of  them, 
he  said,  since  the  letter  from  Mr.  Grey,  announcing  Magdalen's 
approaching  marriage  with  Guy  Seymour. 

"  Announcing  what?"  Frank  asked.     And  Roger  replied  : 

"  Magdalen's  marriage  with  Guy  Seymour.  You  knew  that, 
of  course." 

"Thunder  ! "  Frank  exclaimed,  "have  you  been  so  deceived 
all  this  time,  and  is  that  the  cause  of  those  white  hairs  in  your 


366  ROGER. 

whiskers,  and  that  crow-foot  around  your  eyes  ?  Roger,  you 
are  a  bigger  fool  than  I  am,  and  Bell  has  many  a  time  proved 
to  me  conclusively  that  I  am  a  big  one.  It  is  Alice,  not  Mag 
dalen,  who  is  Mrs.  Guy  Seymour.  They  were  married  very 
quietly  at  home ;  no  wedding,  no  cards,  on  account  of  the 
mother's  recent  death.  I  know  it  is  so,  for  I  saw  the  happy 
pair  with  my  own  eyes  just  before  they  sailed.  So  what  more 
proof  will  you  have  ?  " 

Roger  needed  none,  and  Frank  could  almost  see  the  wrin 
kles  fading  out  of  his  face,  and  the  light  coming  back  to  his 
eyes,  as  he  tried  to  stammer  out  something  about  its  being 
strange  that  he  was  so  deceived.  Looking  at  his  uncle,  now, 
and  remembering  all  the  past,  there  came  again  across  Frank 
the  resolution  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  what  should  have 
been  told  long  ago,  and  after  a  moment's  hesitancy  he  began  : 

"  Roger,  old  chap,  there  are  things  I  could  tell  you  if  I 
wasn't  afraid  you'd  hate  me  all  your  life.  I  b'lieve  I'll  take 
the  risk  any  way,  and  out  with  the  whole  of  it." 

"I  promise  not  to  hate  you.  What  is  it?"  Roger  asked, 
and  Frank  continued,  "  Magdalen  always  loved  you,  and  you 
were  blind  not  to  have  seen  it.  You  thought  too  little  of  your 
self,  and  so  fell  into  the  snare  laid  for  you.  Mother  knew  she 
loved  you,  and  then  got  you  to  assent  to  my  addressing  her, 
and  I  used  you  as  an  argument  why  she  should  listen  to  me, 
and  it  almost  killed  her,  as  you  would  have  known  had  you 
seen  her  face.'1' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  don't  think  you  make  it  quite 
clear,"  Roger  asked,  in  a  trembling  voice  ;  and  then  as  well  as 
he  could  Frank  made  it  clear,  and  told  of  the  ways  and  means 
he  had  resorted  to  in  order  to  win  Magdalen,  who,  through 
all,  showed  how  her  whole  heart  was  given  to  Roger. 

"  If  you  had  seen  her  in  the  garret,  rocking  back  and  forth, 
and  moaning  your  name,  and  seen  how  she  started  from  me 
when  I  said  if  she  would  marry  me  I  would  burn  the  will  and 
never  speak  of  it,  you  would  have  no  doubt  of  her  love  foi 
you." 


ROGER.  367 

"  Frank,  you  have  wronged  me  !  oh,  you  have  wronged  me 
terribly  !  "  Roger  said,  and  his  voice  was  hoarse  Avith  emotion. 
"Millbank  was  nothing  to  this;  but  go  on,  tell  the  whole  ;  keep 
nothing  from  me." 

And  Frank  went  on,  and  told  the  whole  which  the  readet 
already  knows  of  his  efforts  to  deceive  both  Roger  and  Mag 
dalen,  whom  he  had  succeeded  in  separating. 

"  And  were  you  never  engaged  ?  "  Roger  asked. 

And  Frank  answered  him  : 

"No,  never.  She  would  not  listen  to  me  for  a  moment. 
She  admitted  her  love  for  you,  and  I  —  oh,  Roger,  I  am  a  vil 
lain,  but  I  am  getting  my  pay.  I  made  her  think  that  you  only 
cared  for  her  as  your  ward  or  sister,  when  by  a  word  I  could 
have  brought  you  together,  —  and  she  was  proud  and  thought 
you  slighted  her,  inasmuch  as  she  never  knew  how  much  you 
were  with  her  when  she  was  sick.  You  were  gone  when  she 
came  to  a  consciousness  of  what  was  passing  around  her,  and 
I  did  not  tell  her  of  the  message  you  sent  from  the  West.  I 
wanted  her  so  badly  myself,  but  I  failed.  She  left  Milibank  in 
my  absence,  and  fate,  —  I  guess  I  believe  in  fate  more  than  in 
Providence,  —  led  her  to  the  Greys,  and  you  know  the  rest, 
and  why  she  has  been  cold  toward  you,  if  she  has.  She 
thought  you  wanted  her  to  marry  me,  and  I  do  believe  she  has 
found  that  the  hardest  to  forgive,  and  I  don't  blame  her,  neither 
would  Bell.  The  idea  of  anybody's  marrying  me  !  " 

Frank  spoke  bitterly,  and  struck  his  fist  upon  his  knee  as  he 
mentioned  his  wife. 

But  Roger  did  not  heed  that ;  he  was  thinking  of  Magdalen 
and  what  might  have  been  had  Frank  spoken  earlier.  Perhaps 
't  was  not  too  late  now,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  fly  across 
the  ocean  which  divided  them  and  find  her ;  but  neither  he  nor 
Frank  knew  where  she  was,  though  the  latter  thought  he  could 
dscertain  Mr.  Grey's  address  in  New  York,  and  would  do  so 
the  first  time  he  was  in  the  city.  He  was  going  to  New  York 
soon,  he  said,  and  would  do  all  he  could  .to  repair  the  wrong 
and  bring  Roger  and  Magdalen  together. 


368  ROGER. 

"  You  deserve  her  if  ever  a  man  did,"  he  continued,  "  and  1 
hope, — yes,  I  know  it  will  one  day  come  right." 

Frank  brought  his  visit  to  a  close  next  day,  and  left  the  old- 
fashioned  farm-house  among  the  Schodick  hills,  which  seemed 
a  paradise  compared  with  Millbank,  where  he  found  his  wife 
cool  and  quiet  and  self-possessed  as  ever,  and  his  mother  angry, 
defiant,  and  terribly  outraged  with  some  fresh  slight  put  upon 
her  by  her  daughter-in-law.  With  all  his  little  strength  he 
threw  himself  into  the  breach,  and  showed  so  much  discretion 
in  steering  clear  of  both  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  that  Bell  felt 
a  glow  of  something  like  respect  for  him,  and  thought  that  one 
or  two  more  visits  to  his  uncle  might  make  a  man  of  him. 
Poor  Frank,  with  all  his  wealth  and  elegance,  and  his  hand 
some  wife,  was  far  more  to  be  pitied  than  Roger,  to  whom  had 
been  suddenly  opened  a  new  world  of  happiness,  and  whose 
face  ceased  to  wear  the  old  tired  look  it  had  worn  so  long,  and 
who  the  people  said  was  growing  young  every  day.  He  felt 
wi'Jiin  himself  new  life  and  vigor,  and  thanked  Heaven  for  the 
hope  sent  at  last  to  lighten  the  thick  darkness  in  which  he  had 
groped  so  long.  Very  anxiously  he  waited  for  Frank's  letter, 
which  was  to  give  him  Mr.  Grey's  address,  and  when  at  last  it 
came  he  wrote  at  once  to  Magdalen,  and  told  her  of  his  lovf 
and  hopes,  and  asked  if  she  would  let  him  come  for  her  when 
she  returned  to  America,  and  take  her  with  him  to  his  home 
among  the  hills. 

"It  is  not  Millbank,"  he  wrote,  "but,  save  that  Millbank  is 
sacred  to  me  for  the  reason  that  your  dear  presence  has  hal 
lowed  every  spot,  I  love  this  home  as  well  as  I  did  that,  or 
think  I  do.  But  you  may  not,  and  if  you  come  to  me  I  shall 
build  another  house,  more  in  accordance  with  my  bright  bird, 
»vhose  cage  must  be  a  handsomer  one  than  this  old  New  Eng 
land  farm-house." 

This  letter  was  sent  to  the  care  of  Mr.  Grey,  and  then,  long 
before  he  could  reasonably  hope  for  an  answer,  Roger  began 
to  expect  one,  and  the  daily  mail  was  waited  for  with  an  eager 
ness  and  excitement  painful  to  endure,  especially  as  constant 


MAGDALEN  IS   COMING  HO^fE.  369 

disappointment  was  the  only  result  of  that  watching  and  wait 
ing  and  terrible  suspense. 

Magdalen  did  not  write,  and  days  and  weeks  and  months 
\i  :nt  by,  and  Roger  grew  old  again,  and  there  were  more  white 
hairs  in  his  brown  beard,  and  he  ceased  to  talk  about  the  new 
house  he  was  going  to  build,  and  seemed  indifferent  to  every 
thing  but  the  troubles  at  Millbank,  which  were  upon  the  in 
crease,  and  which  finally  resulted  in  Mrs.  Franklin  Irving  tak 
ing  her  father  and  brother  and  sister,  and  going  off  to  Europe 
on  a  pleasure  tour.  Frank  was  glad  to  have  them  go,  and 
feeling  free  once  more,  plunged  into  all  his  former  habits  of 
dissipation,  and  kept  Holt  with  him  constantly  as  his  chief  man 
of  business,  and  rarely  examined  his  accounts,  and  knew  less 
how  he  stood  than  did  his  neighbors,  who  were  watching  his 
headlong  course  and  predicting  that  it  would  soon  end  in  ruin. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

MAGDALEN    IS    COMING   HOME. 

| HE  Greys  had  been  gone  little  more  than  three  years 
and  a  half,  and  the  soft  winds  of  June  were  kissing 
the  ripples  of  the  sea  on  the  morning  when  they 
finally  embarked  for  America.  They  had  travelled  all  over 
Europe,  from  sunny  France  to  colder,  bleaker  Russia,  but  had 
stopped  the  longest  at  the  Isle  of  Ischia,  where  at  the  "  Piccola 
Sentinella"  another  little  life  came  into  their  midst,  and  Guy 
Seymour  nearly  went  wild  with  joy  over  his  beautiful  little  boy, 
whose  soft,  blue  eyes  and  golden  brown  hair  were  so  much  like 
Alice's.  Magdalen  was  permitted  to  name  the  wonderful  baby, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitancy  she  said,  "I  would  like  him 
to  be  called  after  the  best  man  I  ever  knew — 'Roger  Irving.'" 
"  Oh,  Magdalena  mia,  you  don't  forget  him,  do  you  ?  Love 
16* 


3/0  MAGDALEN  IS   COMING  HOME. 

once  love  forever,  is  your  maxim,"  Guy  said,  playfully  ;  but  ha 
approved  the  name,  and  so  did  Alice,  who  knew  more  of  Mag 
dalen's  heart-history  now  than  she  once  had  done,  and  who 
with  Guy  had  revolved  many  plans  for  bringing  Roger  and 
Magdalen  together. 

Mr.  Grey  did  not  assent  quite  so  readily  to  the  name,  though 
he  did  not  oppose  it.  He  merely  said,  "  Roger  sounds  rather 
old  for  a  baby ;  but  do  as  you  like,  —  do  as  you  like." 

So  they  called  the  baby  Roger  Irving,  and  Magdalen  was 
godmother,  and  her  tears  fell  like  a  baptismal  shower  upon  the 
little  face  as  she  thought  of  her  own  babyhood,  and  the  man 
whom  she  had  loved  so  long,  and  who  was  continually  in  her 
thoughts.  She  knew  he  was  not  married ;  she  had  heard  that 
from  the  Burleighs  who  came  one  day  to  the  "  Piccola  Senti- 
nella,"  bringing  news  direct  from  home. 

"  Not  married  yet,  and  is  not  likely  to  be,"  Mrs.  Franklin 
Irving  had  said,  as  she  sat  talking  with  Magdalen,  whose  voice 
was  rather  unsteady  when  she  asked  for  Roger. 

Quick  to  read  expressions  of  thought  and  feeling,  Bell  notec1 
the  flush  on  the  young  girl's  face,  and  the  tremor  in  her  voice, 
and  felt  that  she  had  the  key  to  Roger's  bachelorhood.  She 
had  met  him  twice,  —  once  in  Boston  and  once  at  Millbank, — 
and  had  liked  him  very  much,  and  shown  her  liking  in  many 
ways,  and  even  laid  a  little  snare,  hoping  to  entangle  him  for 
Grace.  This  Frank  saw,  and  told  her  "to  hang  up  her  fiddle, 
for  Roger's  heart  was  disposed  of  long  ago  to  one  who  loved 
him  in  return,  but  who  was  laboring  under  some  mistake." 

Bell  had  forgotten  this,  but  it  came  back  to  her  again  with 
Magdalen  at  her  side,  and  she  told  her  "  rumor  said  there  was 
a  cause  for  Roger's  celibacy  ;  that  he  loved  a  young  girl  who 
had  once  lived  with  him,  and  that  he  was  only  waiting  for 
chance  to  bring  her  in  his  way  again."  Then  she  told  how  pop 
ular  he  was,  and  how  greatly  beloved  by  the  people  in  Schodick 
and  vicinity,  and  how  fast  he  was  growing  rich. 

Oh,  how  Magdalen  longed  to  go  home  after  that,  and  how  she 
wondered  that  Roger  did  not  write  if  he  really  loved  her,  and 


MAGDALEN  13   COMING  HOME.  37 J 

how  little  she  guessed  that  he  fiad  written  long  ago,  and  thai 
her  father  had  kept  the  letter  from  her.  To  this  act  Mr.  Grey 
had  been  prompted  by  a  feeling  he  did  not  himself  quite  under 
stand.  Against  Roger  as  a  man  he  had  nothing,  but  he  did  not 
think  it  right  that  his  daughter  should  marry  the  son  of  the 
woman  whose  early  death  had  been  indirectly  caused  by  himself. 
Had  he  known  how  strong  was  Magdalen's  love  for  Roger  he 
would  never  have  withheld  the  letter,  for,  if  possible,  Magdalen 
was  dearer  to  him  now  than  Alice,  and  he  studied  her  happiness  in 
everything.  But  she  never  spoke  of  Roger,  and  he  hoped  that 
time  and  absence  would  weaken  any  girlish  affection  she  might 
have  cherished  for  him.  So  when  the  letter  came,  and  he 
saw  it  was  from  Schodick,  he  put  it  away  unopened,  and  Mag 
dalen  knew  nothing  of  it  until  long  after  Roger  had  ceased  to 
expect  an  answer,  and  hope  was  nearly  or  quite  extinct  in  his 
heart. 

Perhaps  she  would  not  have  known  of  it  then  if  death  had 
not  invaded  their  family  circle  and  laid  his  grasp  upon  her 
father,  who  died  in  Germany,  in  a  little  village  on  the  Rhine. 
His  death  was  sudden  to  all  but  Ijimself.  He  had  long  known 
that  he  suffered  from  heart  disease,  which  might  kill  him  at  any 
moment,  and  as  far  as  his  worldly  affairs  were  concerned,  he 
was  ready.  Every  debt  in  America  had  been  paid,  every  busi 
ness  matter  arranged,  and  his  immense  fortune  divided  equally 
between  his  two  daughters,  with  the  exception  that  to  Magdalen 
he  gave  thirty  thousand  dollars  more  than  he  gave  to  Alice,  this 
being  just  the  amount  of  poor  Laura's  property.  He  was  sick 
only  a  day  or  two  and  able  to  talk  but  little,  but  he  spoke  to 
Magdalen  of  Roger  Irving,  and  told  her  of  the  letter  withheld 
and  where  to  find  it,  and  said  to  her  faintly  and  at  long  inter 
vals,  "  Forgive  me,  if  I  did  wrong.  I  thought  it  would  be 
better  for  the  families  not  to  come  together.  I  hoped  you 
might  forget  him  if  you  believed  yourself  forgotten,  but  I  see  I 
was  mistaken.  I  am  sorry  now  for  the  course  I  pursued.  I 
would  like  to  see  the  boy,  or  man  he  is  now.  I  saw  him  once 
when  a  little  child.  Jessie  wanted  to  take  him  with  her,  but  I 


3/2  MAGDALEN  IS   COMING  HOME. 

refused.  I  hated  him,  because  he  was  hers  and  not  mine.  I 
hated  all  the  Irvings.  I  took  Alice  from  New  Haven  because 
I  feared  she  might  fancy  Frank.  I  do  not  hate  them  now,  and 
when  I'm  dead,  go  back  to  Roger  and  tell  him  so,  and  tell  — 
tell  Jessie  —  if  you  see  her ;  —  yes,  —  tell  her  and  Laura,  too, 
—  that  I  tried  —  I  tried  —  to  pray,  and  I  did  pray  —  and  I 
hope—" 

He  did  not  say  what  he  hoped,  for  his  tongue  grew  stiff 
and  paralyzed,  and  only  his  eyes  spoke  the  farewell  which 
was  forever.  Alice  and  Guy  were  both  away  at  a  little 
town  farther  up  the  river,  where  Guy  had  some  friends ; 
but  they  hurried  back  to  the  vine-wreathed  cottage  they  had 
taken  for  the  summer,  and  where  their  father  now  lay  dead. 
He  was  an  old  man,  of  nearly  seventy,  and  had  lived  out  his 
appointed  time  ;  but  his  children  wept  bitterly  over  him,  and 
kissed  his  white  lips  and  snowy  hair,  and  then  made  him  read) 
for  the  coffin,  and  buried  him  on  the  banks  of  the  blue  Rhine, 
where  the  river,  in  its  ceaseless  flow,  and  the  rustling  vines  of 
Germany  sing  a  requiem  for  the  dead. 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  America,"  Magdalen  said,  when  Gu} 
and  Alice  asked  what  her  wishes  were. 

Even  before  her  father  was  buried  from  her  sight,  she  had  found 
Roger's  letter,  of  more  than  two  and  a  half  years  ago,  and  had 
read  it  through,  and  her  heart  had  leaped  across  the  sea  with 
the  answer  she  would  give.  She  knew  Roger  had  not  for 
gotten.  He  might  have  lost  faith  in  her,  from  her  silence  ; 
but  he  loved  her  still,  and  amid  all  her  sorrow  for  her  father, 
there  was  a  spring  of  joy  in  her  heart  as  she  thought  of  the 
future  opening  so  blissfully  before  her.  She  told  Guy  and 
Alice  everything,  and  while  they  both  felt  how  deeply  she  had 
been  wronged,  they  uttered  no  word  of  censure  against  the 
father,  who  had  wronged  her  so.  He  was  dead  and  gone  for 
ever,  and  they  made  his  grave  beautiful  with  flowers  and 
shrubs,  and  placed  by  it  a  costly  stone,  and  dropped  their  tears 
upon  it ;  and  then  turned  their  backs  on  Germany  and  travelled 
night  and  day  until  the  sea  was  reached,  —  the  glorious  sea,  at 


MILLBANK  IS  SOLD  AT  AUCTION.  S73 

sight  of  which  Magdalen  wept  tears  of  joy,  blessing  the  dashing 
waves  which  were  to  bear  her  home  to  Beechwood  and  to  Roge» 
Irving. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

MILLBANK   IS   SOLD   AT  AUCTION. 

JILLBANK  was  to  be  sold,  with  all  its  furniture  and 
the  hundred  acres  of  land  belonging  to  it.  Five  years 
had  sufficed  for  Frank  to  run  through  his  princely 
fortune,  and  he  was  a  ruined  man.  Extravagant  living,  losses 
by  fire  and  neglect  to  take  advantage  of  the  markets,  fast 
horses,  heavy  bets,  the  dishonesty  of  Holt,  his  head  man  and 
chief  adviser,  and  lastly,  his  signing  of  a  note  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  —  every  penny  of  which  he  had  to  pay,  —  had  done  the 
business  for  him ;  and  when  the  Greys  landed  in  New  York 
the  papers  were  full  of  the  "  great  failure  "  at  Belvidere,  and 
the  day  was  fixed  when  Millbank  was  to  be  sold. 

Guy  pointed  out  the  paragraph  to  Magdalen,  and  then 
watched  her  as  she  read  it.  She  was  very  white,  and  there  was 
a  strange  gleam  in  her  dark  eyes  ;  but  she  did  not  seem  sorry. 
On  the  contrary,  her  face  fairly  shone  as  she  looked  up  and 
said,  "  I  shall  buy  Millbank  and  give  it  back  to  Roger." 

Guy  knew  she  would  do  that,  and  he  encouraged  her  in  the 
plan,  and  went  himself  to  Belvidere,  where  he  was  a  stranger, 
and  made  all  needful  inquiries,  and  reported  to  Magdalen. 
Mrs.  Frank  had  already  left  Millbank  with  her  hundred  thou 
sand,  not  a  dollar  of  which  could  Frank's  creditors  touch,  or 
Frank  either,  for  that  matter. 

Bell  held  her  own  with  an  iron  grasp,  and  so  well  had  she 
managed  that  none  of  the  principal  had  been  spent,  and  when 
the  final  crash  came  and  her  husband  told  her  he  was  mined,  it 
found  her  prepared  and  ready  to  abdicate  at  any  moment 


374  MILLBANK  IS  SOLD  AT  AUCTION. 

The  old  home  in  Boston  was  sold,  but  she  was  able  to  buy  a 
better  one,  and  she  did  so,  and  with  her  father  and  sister  took 
possession  at  once.  To  do  Bell  justice,  she  carried  nothing 
from  Millbank  but  her  clothing  and  jewelry.  The  rest  be 
longed  to  Frank's  creditors,  and  she  considered  that  it  would  be 
stealing  to  take  it.  This  she  said  several  times  for  the  benefil 
of  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  who,  less  scrupulous  than  her  daughter-in 
law,  was  quietly  filling  her  trunks  and  boxes  with  articles  of 
value,  silver  and  china,  and  linen  and  bedding,  and  curtains,  and 
whatever  she  could  safely  stow  away.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was 
about  to  buy  a  house,  too,  a  cosy  little  cottage  with  handsome 
grounds,  just  out  of  New  York,  on  the  New  Haven  road.  She, 
too,  had  managed  well,  as  she  supposed.  She  had  speculated  in 
stocks  and  oil  until  she  thought  herself  worth  forty  thousand 
dollars.  There  was  some  of  it  lying  in  the  bank,  where  she 
could  draw  it  at  any  time,  and  some  of  it  still  in  oi/,  which  she 
was  assured  she  could  sell  at  an  advance  upon  the  original 
price.  So,  what  with  the  forty  thousand  and  what  with  the 
household  goods  she  would  take  from  Millbank,  she  felt  quite 
comfortable  in  her  mind,  and  bore  the  shock  of  her  son's  failure 
with  great  equanimity  and  patience.  She  was  glad,  she  said,  of 
something  to  break  up  the  terrible  life  they  were  leading  at  Mill- 
bank.  For  more  than  a  year,  and  indeed  ever  since  Bell's  re 
turn  from  abroad,  scarcely  a  word  had  been  exchanged  be 
tween  herself  and  Mrs.  Franklin  Irving,  and  each  lady  had  an 
establishment  of  her  own,  with  a  separate  table,  a  separate  reti 
nue  of  servants,  and  a  separate  carriage.  There  was  no  other 
way  of  keeping  the  peace,  and  in  desperation  Frank  himself  had 
suggested  this  arrangement,  though  he  knew  that  the  entire  sup 
port  of  both  families  would  necessarily  fall  on  him.  But  Frank 
was  reckless,  and  did  not  greatly  care.  He  was  going  to  de 
struction  any  way,  he  said  to  Roger,  who  expostulated  with  him 
and  warned  him  of  the  sure  result  of  such  extravagance.  "  He 
was  going  to  ruin,  and  he  might  as  well  go  on  a  grand  scale,  and 
better,  too,  if  that  would  keep  peace  between  the  women." 
And  so  he  went  to  ruin,  and  wrote  to  Roger  one  morning, 


MILLBANK  IS  SOLD  AT  AUCTION.  3/5 

"  The  smash  has  come,  and  I'm  poorer  than  I  was  when  I  de 
pended  on  you  for  my  bread.  Everything  is  to  be  sold,  and  I 
can't  say  I  am  sorry.  It's  been  a  torment  to  me.  I've  nevei 
had  the  confidence  of  my  men ;  they  always  acted  as  if  I  was 
an  intruder,  and  I  felt  so  myself.  I  wish  I  could  give  the  thing 
back  to  you  as  clear  as  when  I  took  it.  I'd  rather  saw  wood 
than  lead  the  dog's  life  I  have  led  for  the  last  five  years.  Bell 
is  going  to  Boston.  She  is  rich,  and  maybe  will  let  me  live  with 
her  if  I  pay  my  board  !  That  sounds  queer,  don't  it?  but  I  tell 
you,  old  chap,  you  are  better  off  without  a  wife.  I  don't  believe 
in  women  any  way.  Mother  is  going  to  New  York  and  I  am 
going  to  thunder." 

Roger's  heart  gave  one  great  throb  of  sorrow  for  his  nephew 
when  he  read  this  letter,  and  then  beat  wildly  with  the  wish  that 
he  could  buy  Millbank  back.  But  he  was  not  able,  and  he 
could  have  wept  bitterly  at  the  thoughts  of  its  going  to  strangers. 
"  Thy  will  be  done,"  was  a  lesson  Roger  had  learned  thoroughly, 
and  he  said  it  softly  to  himself,  and  was  glad  his  father  did  not 
know  that  the  old  place  which  had  been  in  the  family  more 
than  fifty  years,  was  about  to  pass  from  it  forever. 

He  went  to  Millbank  and  examined  Frank's  affairs  to  see  if 
anything  could  be  saved  for  the  young  man,  who  seemed  so 
crushed,  so  hopeless,  and  so  stony.  But  matters  were  even 
worse  than  he  had  feared.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  sell 
the  entire  property.  Roger  could  buy  the  mill,  and  the  men 
were  anxious  for  him  to  do  so,  and  crowded  around  him  with 
their  entreaties,  which  Frank  warmly  seconded. 

"  Buy  it,  Roger,  and  let  me  work  in  it  as  a  common  hajid.  I'd 
rather  do  it  a  thousand  times  than  live  on  my  wife,  even  if  her, 
money  did  come  from  me." 

Frank  said  this  bitterly,  and  Roger's  heart  ached  for  him  as 
he  replied  that  perhaps  he  would  buy  the  Mill ;  he'd  think  of  it 
and  decide.  It  was  not  to  be  sold  till  after  Millbank,  and  his 
decision  would  depend  on  who  bought  that.  This  comforted 
Frank  a  little,  and  he  felt  a  great  deal  better  when  he  at  last 


MILLBANK  IS  SOLD  AT  AUCTION. 

said  good-by  to  Roger,  who  went  back  to  Schodick  the  day 
but  one  before  Guy  Seymour's  arrival  in  Belvidere. 

Guy  did  not  go  to  see  Frank.  He  found  out  all  he  cared  to 
know  from  other  sources,  and  reported  to  Magdalen,  who  could 
scarcely  eat  or  sleep,  so  great  was  her  excitement  and  so  eager 
was  she  for  the  day  of  the  sale. 

"  Have  you  answered  Roger's  letter  ?  "  Alice  asked,  and  she 
replied  :  "  No,  nor  shall  I  till  Millbank  is  mine.  Then  I  shall 
take  my  answer  to  him  with  a  deed  of  the  place." 

She  had  it  all  arranged, — her  going  to  Schodick  unan 
nounced  to  see  Roger,  her  laying  the  deed  before  him,  and  her 
keen  enjoyment  of  his  surprise  and  astonishment,  both  at  the 
deed  and  the  sight  of  herself. 

"  It  is  five  years  since  I  saw  him.  I  wonder  if  he  will  know 
me,  and  if  he  will  think  me  old  at  twenty-four  ?  "  she  said  as  she 
arose  and  glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror. 

Three  years  of  travel  had  not  impaired  but  greatly  improved 
her  looks  and  style,  and  those  who  thought  her  handsome  when 
she  went  away  exclaimed  now  at  her  matchless  loveliness,  and 
Magdalen  knew  herself  that  she  was  beautiful,  and  was  glad  for 
Roger's  sake.  Every  thought  and  feeling  now  had  a  direct 
reference  to  him,  and  when  at  last  the  day  of  the  sale  arrived, 
she  was  sick  with  excitement,  and  read  Guy's  message  in  bed. 

He  had  promised  to  telegraph  as  soon  as  Millbank  was  hers, 
and  all  through  the  morning  she  waited  and  watched  and  her 
head  throbbed  with  pain  and  she  grew  more  and  more  impatient, 
until  at  last  came  the  telegram. 

"  Millbank  is  yours.  Mr.  Roger  Irving  neither  here  nor 
coming.  Guv." 

Then  Magdalen  arose  and  dressed  herself,  and  seemed  like  one 
insane  as  she  flew  about  the  room  and  packed  a  small  hat-box 
preparatory  for  to-morrow's  journey.  She  was  going  to  Mill- 
bank  to  execute  the  deed,  and  then  on  to  Schodick  with  Guy. 
Alice  helped  her  all  she  could,  and  tried  to  keep  her  quiet,  and 
make  her  eat  and  rest  lest  her  strength  should  fail  entirely. 

But  Magdalen  was  not  tired,  she  said,  nor  sick  now.     She  felt 


MILLBANK  IS  SOLD    4T  AUCTION'.  377 

better  than  she  had  done  in  years,  and  her  eyes  were  bright  as 
stars  and  her  cheeks  like  damask  roses  when  she  bade  Alice 
good-by  and  started  for  Belvidere. 

Guy  met  her  at  the  station,  and  conducted  her  to  the  new 
hotel,  which  had  been  built  since  she  left  the  place.  The  win 
dows  of  her  room  commanded  a  view  of  Millbank,  and  she 
looked  with  tearful  eyes  at  her  old  home  and  Roger's,  and 
thought,  "  It  will  be  ours  again."  She  had  no  doubt  of  that,  no 
doubt  of  Roger,  and  her  heart  thrilled  with  ecstasy  as  she  antici 
pated  the  joyous  future.  There  had  not  been  much  excite 
ment  at  the  sale,  Guy  told  her ;  but  few  seemed  to  care  for  so 
large  a  house,  and  the  bids  had  ceased  altogether  when  once  it 
was  rumored  that  he  was  merely  bidding  for  /ier,  —  for  Mag 
dalen. 

"  I  believe  they  suspected  your  intention,"  Guy  said,  "  and 
you  got  Millbank  some  thousands  cheaper  than  I  thought  you 
would.  It  is  a  grand  old  place,  and  has  not  been  injured  by  its 
recent  proprietors." 

Magdalen  did  not  wish  to  go  into  the  house  while  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  was  there,  but  she  rode  through  the  grounds  in  the  after 
noon,  and  the  next  day  started  with  Guy  for  Schodick,  which 
they  reached  about  three  o'clock. 

"  Mr.  Irving  was  in  town,"  the  landlord  said,  "  and  slightly 
indisposed,  he  believed ;  at  least  he  was  not  at  his  office  that 
morning,  and  the  clerk  said  he  was  at  his  house,  sick." 

"I  am  going  to  him  at  once,"  Magdalen  said  to  Guy.  "You 
have  been  there.  You  can  direct  me,  and  within  half  an  hour 
after  their  arrival  in  Schodick  she  was  on  her  way  to  Roger's 
house  with  the  deed  of  Millbank  in  her  pocket. 


378  MAGDALEN  AT  ROGER'S  HOME. 

CHAPTER   LIU. 

MAGDALEN   AT    ROGER'S    HOME. 

j|T  had  been  some  consolation  to  Roger  to  know  that  an 
Irving  was  living  at  Millbank,  even  if  it  was  no  longei 
his,  but  to  have  it  pass  into  the  hands  of  strangers  was 
terrible  to  him,  and  on  the  day  of  the  sale  he  lived  over  again 
the  sorrow  he  had  felt  when  first  his  fortune  was  taken  from 
him. 

He  had  requested  Frank  to  inform  him  at  once  with  regard  to 
the  purchaser,  and  had  waited  almost  as  impatiently  as  Magda 
len  herself,  until  Frank's  telegram  flashed  along  the  wires, 
"  Sold  to  Guy  Seymour,  for  Magdalen." 

Then  for  a  moment  Roger's  heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  joy, 
and  a  hope  or  expectation  of  something,  he  knew  not  what,  flitted 
through  his  mind.  He  had  seen  in  a  paper  that  Guy  Seymour 
had  returned  from  Europe  with  his  family,  and  from  the  same 
paper  learned  that  Mr.  Grey  was  dead.  There  was  no  bitter 
ness  then  in  Roger's  heart  towards  the  man  whose  enemy  he 
had  been.  Arthur  Grey  was  dead,  and  gone  to  One  who  would 
deal  justly  with  him  ;  and  Roger  was  sorry  he  had  ever  felt  so 
hard  towards  him,  for  he  had  been  the  father  of  Magdalen,  and 
she  was  as  dear  to  him  now  as  she  had  been  in  the  years  gone 
by,  when  she  made  the  very  brightness  of  his  life.  He  could 
not  forget  her,  though  her  name  was  never  on  his  lips,  save  as 
he  bore  it  night  and  morning  to  the  Thione  of  Grace,  or  whis 
pered  it  to  himself  in  the  loneliness  of  his  room,  or  up  among 
the  pines,  where  she  always  seemed  near  to  him.  He  had  given 
up  all  hope  of  ever  calling  her  his  own.  His  unanswered  letter 
had  driven  him  to  that,  and  still  the  days  were  brighter  and  life 
seemed  far  more  desirable  after  he  knew  that  she  had  returned, 
that  the  same  sky  smiled  on  them  both  by  day,  and  the  same 
stars  kept  watch  over  them  at  night. 

"Guy  Seymour  bought  it  for  Magdalen,"  he  said,  as  he  held 


MAGDALEN  AT  ROGER'S  HOME.  379 

the  telegram  in  his  trembling  hand.  "  Yes,  I  see  ;  her  father 
has  left  her  rich,  and  she  has  bought  Millbank,  and  means  per 
haps  to  live  there  ;  but  not  alone,  surely  not  alone  in  that  great 
house ; "  and  then  Roger  went  off  into  a  train  of  speculation 
as  to  Magdalen's  probable  intentions.  Was  Guy  to  be  there 
with  Alice,  or  was  there  a  prospective  husband  across  the  sea  ? 
Roger  grew  hot  and  faint  when  he  thought  of  that,  and  felt  a 
headache  coming  on,  and  said  to  his  partner  that  he  would  go 
home  and  rest  a  while.  He  told  Hester  of  the  telegram,  and 
with  a  woman's  ready  wit  she  guessed  what  Magdalen's  inten 
tions  might  be,  but  gave  no  sign  to  Roger.  She  saw  how  pale 
he  was  looking,  and  was  prepared  to  hear  of  his  headache,  and 
made  him  some  tea,  and  told  him  to  keep  still  and  not  bother 
about  Frank's  affairs. 

"  You've  just  tired  yourself  to  death  over  'em,"  she  said, 
"and  it's  no  wonder  you  are  sick." 

He  was  better  the  next  day,  and  went  as  usual  to  his  -effice, 
but  the  next  morning  his  headache  had  returned  with  redoubled 
violence.  And  while  Magdalen  was  making  her  way  to  the 
old-fashioned  farm-house  covered  with  vines  and  surrounded 
with  flowers  and  shrubs,  he  was  sleeping  quietly  upon  the 
couch  in  his  room,  unmindful  of  the  great  happiness  in  store 
for  him,  —  the  great  surprise,  coming  nearer  and  nearer  as 
Magdalen  hastened  her  footsteps,  her  heart  beating  almost  to 
bursting  when  at  a  sudden  turn  in  the  road  she  came  upon  the 
house  which  they  told  her  was  Mr.  Irving' s. 

"The  first  one  round  the  corner.  You'll  know  it  by  the 
heaps  of  flowers,  and  the  pretty  yard,"  a  boy  had  said,  and 
Magdalen  had  almost  run,  so  eager  was  she  to  be  there. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful !  I  should  know  Roger  lived  here,"  she 
said,  as  she  stopped  to  admire  the  velvety  turf  in  which  patches 
of  bright  flowers  were  blooming,  the  fanciful  beds,  the  borders 
and  walks,  and  the  signs  of  taste  and  care  everywhere  visible. 

She  did  not  think  of  the  old  house,  with  its  low  windows  and 
doors,  and  signs  of  antiquity.  She  saw  only  the  marks  of  culti 
vation  around  it,  and  thought  it  was  Roger's  home.  The 


380  MAGDALEN  AT  ROGER'S  HOME. 

windows  of  an  upper  room  were  open,  and  a  rustic  basket  o! 
ivy  and  geraniums  and  verbenas  was  standing  in  one  of  them, 
while  a  book  with  the  paper  folder  in  it  was  in  the  other,  and 
across  both  white  curtains  were  hanging,  the  summer  wind 
moving  them  in  and  out  with  a  slow,  gentle  motion. 

"  I  know  that  this  is  Roger's  room,"  Magdalen  said,  and  a 
vague  desire  seized  her  that  he  might  receive  Millbank  from 
her  there. 

Old  Hester  Floyd  had  finished  her  work  and  was  about  to 
"  tidy  herself  up  a  little,"  when  a  rustling  movement  at  the 
door  attracted  her  attention,  and  she  turned  to  find  Magdalen 
standing  there,  her  dark  eyes  bright  as  diamonds,  her  cheeks 
flushed  and  burning  with  excitement,  her  lips  apart  and  her 
hands  clasped  together,  as  she  bent  slightly  forward  across  the 
kitchen  threshold.  With  a  scream,  Hester  bounded  toward 
her,  and  dragging  her  into  the  room,  exclaimed,  "  Magdalen, 
Magdalen,  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it.  I  said  something  was  going 
to  happen  when  the  rooster  crowed  so  this  morning,  —  some 
body  going  to  come ;  but  I  did  not  dream  of  you,  Magdalen, 
oh  !  Magdalen."  She  kept  repeating  the  name,  and  with  her 
hard,  rough  hands  held  and  rubbed  the  soft  white  fingers  she 
had  clasped  ;  then,  as  the  joy  kept  growing,  she  sobbed  aloud 
and  broke  down  entirely. 

"  Oh  !  Magdalen,"  she  said,  "  I  am  so  glad  for  him.  He  has 
wanted  you  and  missed  you  all  the  time,  though  he  never 
mentioned  your  name." 

Something  in  the  face  or  manner  of  the  younger  woman 
must  have  communicated  itself  to  the  mind  of  the  elder,  for 
Magdalen  had^  given  no  reason  for  her  sudden  appearance  at 
Schodick,  or  sign  of  what  she  meant  to  do.  But  Hester  took 
her  coming  as  a  good  omen  for  Roger,  and  kept  repeating, 
f"  I'm  so  glad,  so  glad  for  Roger." 

.  "  How  do  you  know  he  wants  me,  if,  as  you  say,  he  never 
mentions  my  name  ? "  Magdalen  asked,  and  Hester  replied, 
"How  do  we  know  the  sun  shines  when  we  can't  hear  it? 


MAGDALEN  AT  ROGER'S  HOME.  381 

We  can  see  and  feel,  can't  we  ?  And  so  I  know  you  ain't  long 
out  of  Roger's  mind,  and  ain't  been  since  we  moved  here,  and 
he  brung  the  candle-box  cradle  with  him  just  because  you  once 
slept  in  it." 

"Did  Roger  do  that?  Did  he  bring  my  cradle  from  Mill 
bank  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before  ?  "  Magdalen  asked, 
her  eyes  shining  with  tears  of  joy  at  this  proof  of  Roger's  love. 

"  I  thought  I  did  write  it  to  you,"  Hester  replied ;  "  I  meant 
to,  but  might  of  forgot  but  he  brought  it  by  express  ;  and  it's 
.upstairs  now,  and  in  it  —  " 

Hester  stopped  abruptly,  thinking  it  might  be  premature  to 
speak  of  the  cribby  quilt,  which  did  not  now  stand  so  good  a 
chance  of  reaching  the  heathen  as  it  had  done  one  hour  before. 

"  Where  is  Roger  ?  "  Magdalen  asked,  and  Hester  told  her 
of  the  headache  he  had  complained  of  ever  since  the  day  of  the 
sale,  adding,  "  He's  in  his  room,  which  is  fixed  up  as  nice  as 
anybody's ;  his  books  and  pictures  and  a  little  recess  for  his 
bed,  just  like  any  gentleman." 

"  Does  he  know  who  bought  Millbank  ?  "  Magdalen  asked 
next,  and  Hester  replied  : 

"  Yes,  Frank  telegraphed  that  Mr.  Seymour  bought  it  for 
you,  and  Roger  was  as  white  as  a  ghost,  and  has  been  sick  ever 
since.  Magdalen,  what  did  you  buy  Millbank  for  ?  Be  you 
goin'  to  git  married?" 

Hester  asked  this  question  a  little  anxiously,  and  Magdalen's 
eyes  fairly  danced  as  she  replied,  "  I  think  so,  Hester,  but 
I'm  not  quite  certain.  I  did  not  buy  Millbank  for  myself, 
though,  I  bought  it  for  Roger,  and — " 

Hester's  hand  deepened  its  grasp  on  Magdalen's,  and 
Hester's  face  was  almost  as  white  as  her  cap  border,  as  she 
bent  forward  to  listen,  saying  eagerly,  "  and  what,  Magdalen  ? 
You  bought  it  for  Roger  and  what  ?  " 

"  And  have  given  it  to  him.  I  was  the  means  of  his  losing 
it.  It  is  right  that  I  should  give  it  back,  and  I  am  here  to  do  so. 
The  deed  is  in  my  pocket,  made  out  to  him,  to  Roger,  —  see," 
and  she  held  the  precious  document  toward  Hester,  who  was 


382  ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN. 

on  her  knees  now,  kissing  even  the  dress  of  the  young  girl  thus 
making  restitution. 

She  could  hardly  believe  it  true,  and  she  took  the  paper  in 
her  hands  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  then  opened  it  reverent! v, 
and  glancing  at  its  contents,  whispered,  "It  is,  it  is.  It  reads 
like  the  deed  of  the  tavern  stand.  It  must  be  true.  Oh,  Mag 
dalen,  Roger  can't  live  there  alone.  Who  is  to  live  with 
him  ?  " 

"You  and  I,  Hester,  if  he  will  let  us.  Do  you  think  he 
will  ?  "  Magdalen  said,  with  a  merry  gleam  in  her  bright  eyes. 

"  Do  I  think  he  will?     Ask  him,  and  see  what  he  says." 

Old  Hester  had  risen  to  her  feet,  but  she  still  held  Magda 
len's  hand,  and  leading  her  into  the  next  room,  pointed  to  the 
stair  door,  and  said,  "  He  is  up  there  ;  come  on  if  you  want  to 
see  him." 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  Hester  paused  a  moment  to  recon 
noitre, —  then  whispered  softly,  "He's  asleep  on  the  lounge. 
Shall  we  go  back  ?  " 

"  No,  leave  me  here  with  him,"  Magdalen  replied,  and  nod 
ding  assent,  Hester  stole  softly  down  the  stairs,  while  Magdalen 
stepped  carefully  across  the  threshold  of  the  room,  and  closing 
the  door  behind  her  stood  locking  upon  Roger. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

ROGER   AND   MAGDALEN. 

|E  was  sleeping  quietly,  and  his  forehead  was  fully  ex 
posed  to  view,  with  the  brown  curls  clustering  around 
it,  and  an  occasional  frown  or  shadow  flitting  across  it  as 
if  the  pain  were  felt  even  in  his  sleep.  How  Magdalen's  fingers 
tingled  to  thread  those  curls,  and  smooth  that  broad,  white  brow ; 
but  she  dared  not  for  fear  of  waking  him,  and  she  held  her  breath 


ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN.  383 

and  stood  looking  at  him  as  he  slept,  feeling  a  keen  throb  of  sor 
row  as  she:  saw  how  he  had  changed  and  knew  what  had  changed 
him.  He:  was  much  thinner  than  when  she  saw  him  last,  and 
there  were  lines  about  his  mouth  and  a  few  threads  of  silver  in 
his  brown  beard,  while  his  eyes,  as  he  slept,  seemed  hollow  and 
sunken. 

There  was  a  stool  just  at  her  feet,  and  she  pushed  it  to  his 
side,  and  seating  herself  upon  it  prepared  to  watch  and  wait  un 
til  his  heavy  slumber  ended.  And  while  she  waited  she  looked 
around  and  noted  all  the  marks  of  a  refined  taste  which  Roger 
had  gathered  about  him,  —  the  books,  the  pictures,  the  flowers 
and  shells,  and  lastly,  a  little  crayon  sketch  of  herself,  drawn  evi 
dently  from  memory,  and  representing  her  as  she  sat  by  the  river 
bank  years  ago,  when  first  Roger  Irving  felt  that  his  interest  in  his 
beautiful  ward  was  more  than  a  mere  liking.  It  was  hanging 
close  to  Jessie's  picture,  and  Magdalen  sat  gazing  at  it  until  she 
forgot  where  she  was,  and  was  back  again  beneath  the  old  tree  by 
the  river  bank,  with  Roger  at  her  side.  Suddenly  she  gave  a 
long,  deep  sigh,  and  then  Roger  awoke,  and  met  the  glance  of 
her  bright  eyes,  and  saw  her  face  so  near  to  him,  and  knew  that 
his  long  night  of  sorrow  was  over,  else  she  had  never  been  there, 
kneeling  by  him  as  she  was,  with  her  hands  holding  his  and  her 
tears  dropping  so  fast  as  she  tried  to  speak  to  him. 

"Magda,  Magda,  my  darling,"  was  all  he  could  say  as  he 
drew  her  into  his  arms  and  held  her  there  a  moment  in  a  close 
embrace. 

Then  releasing  her  he  lay  down  upon  his  pillow,  pale  as 
death  and  utterly  prostrated  with  the  neuralgic  pain  which  the 
sudden  excitement  and  surprise  had  brought  back  again. 

"  You  take  my  breath  away ;  when  did  you  come,  and  why  ?  " 
he  asked ;  and  then  releasing  her  hands  from  his,  Magdalen 
took  the  deed  from  her  pocket  and  changing  her  position  held 
it  before  his  eyes,  saying :  "  /  came  to  bring  this,  Roger ;  to 
make  restitution  ;  to  give  you  back  Millbank,  which,  but  for  me, 
you  would  not  have  lost.  See,  it  is  made  out  'to  you  !  Mill- 


384  ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN. 

bank  is  yours  again.  I  bought  it  with  my  own  money,  — 
bought  it  for  you,  —  I  give  it  to  you,  —  it  is  yours." 

She  spoke  rapidly  and  kept  reiterating  that  Millbank  was  /«>, 
because  of  the  look  on  his  face  which  she  did  not  quite  under 
stand.  He  was  too  much  bewildered  and  confounded  to  know 
what  to  say,  and  for  a  moment  was  silent,  while  his  eyes  ran 
rapidly  over  the  paper,  which,  beyond  a  doubt,  made  him 
master  of  Millbank  again. 

"Why  did  you  do  this,  Magda  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  and  his  chin 
quivered  a  little  as  he  said  it. 

Then  Magdalen  burst  out  impulsively,  "  Oh,  Roger,  don't 
look  as  if  you  were  not  glad.  I've  thought  so  much  about  it, 
and  wanted  to  do  something  by  way  of  amends.  1  saved  all 
my  salary,  every  dollar,  before  I  knew  I  was  Magdalen  Grey, 
and  was  going  to  send  it  to  you,  but  Guy  laughed  me  out  of  it, 
and  said  you  did  not  need  it :  then,  when  father  died  and 
I  knew  I  was  rich,  my  first  thought  was  of  you,  and  when  I  heard 
Millbank  was  to  be  sold,  I  said,  '  I'll  buy  it  for  Roger  if  it 
takes  every  cent  I  am  worth  ; '  and  I  have  bought  it,  and  given 
it  to  you,  and  you  must  take  it  and  go  back  there  and  live.  I 
shall  never  be  happy  till  you  do." 

She  stopped  here,  but  she  was  kneeling  still,  and  her  tearful, 
Hushed  face  was  very  near  to  Roger,  who  could  interpret  her 
words  and  manner  in  only  one  way,  and  that  a  way  which  made 
the  world  seem  like  heaven  to  him. 

"  Magda,"  he  said,  winding  his  arm  around  her  and  drawing 
her  hot  cheek  close  to  his  own,  "let  me  ask  one  question. 
I  can't  live  at  Millbank  alone.  If  I  take  it  of  you,  who  will 
live  there  with  me  ?  " 

Hester  had  asked  a  similar  question,  but  Magdalen  did  not 
reply  to  Roger  just  as  she  had  to  the  old  lady.  There  was  a 
little  dash  of  coquetry  in  her  manner,  which  would  not  per 
haps  have  appeared  had  she  been  less  sure  of  her  position. 

"  I  suppose  Hester  will  live  with  you,  of  course,"  she  said. 
"  She  does  nicely  for  you  here.  She  is  not  so  very  old." 

There  was  a  teasing  look  in  Magdalen's  eyes,  which  told  Roger 


ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN.  385 

he  had  nothing  to  fear,  and  raising  himself  up  he  drew  her  down 
beside  him  and  said :  "  I  ask  you  to  be  candid  with  me,  Magda. 
We  have  wasted  too  much  time  not  to  be  in  earnest  now. 
Your  coming  to  me  as  you  have  could  only  be  construed  in 
one  way,  were  you  like  most  girls  ;  but  you  are  not.  You  are 
impulsive.  You  think  no  evil,  see  no  evil,  but  do  just  what 
your  generous  heart  prompts  you  to  do.  Now,  tell  me,  dar 
ling,  was  it  sympathy  and  a  desire  to  make  restitution,  as  you  de 
signate  it,  or  was  it  love  which  sent  you  here  when  I  had  ceased 
to  hope  you  would  ever  come.  Tell  me,  Magda,  do  you,  can. 
you  love  your  old  friend  and  guardian,  who  has  been  foolish 
enough  to  hold  you  in  his  heart  all  these  many  years,  even  when 
he  believed  himself  indifferent  to  you  ?  " 

Roger  was  talking  in  sober  earnest,  and  his  arm  deepened  its 
clasp  around  Magda' s  waist,  and  his  lips  touched  the  shining 
hair  of  the  bowed  head  which  drew  back  a  moment  from  him, 
then  drooped  lower  and  lower  until  it  rested  in  his  bosom,  as 
Magdalen  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  and  sobs.  For  a  moment 
she  did  not  try  to  speak ;  then,  with  a  desperate  effort  to  be  calm, 
she  lifted  up  her  head  and  burst  out  with,  "  I  never  got  your 
letter,  never  knew  it  was  written  until  a  few  weeks  ago. 
Father  kept  it.  Forgive  him,  Roger;  remember  he  was  my 
father,  and  he  is  dead,"  she  cried  vehemently,  as  she  saw  the 
dark  frown  gathering  on  Roger's  face.  Yes,  he  was  her  father, 
and  he  was  dead,  and  that  kept  Roger  from  cursing  the  man 
who  had  wronged  him  in  his  childhood,  through  his  mother, 
and  touched  him  still  closer  in  his  later  manhood,  by  keeping 
him  so  long  from  Magdalen. 

"  Father  told  me  at  the  last,"  Magdalen  said.  "  He  was  sor 
ry  he  kept  it,  arxd  he  bade  me  tell  you  so.  He  did  not  dislike 
you.  It  was  the  name,  the  association  ;  and  he  hoped  I  might 
forget  you,  but  I  didn't.  I  have  remembered  you  all  through  the 
long  years  since  that  dreadful  day  when  I  found  the  will,  and 
it  hurt  me  so  to  think  you  wanted  me  to  marry  Frank.  That 
was  the  hardest  of  all." 

"  But  you  know  better  now.    I  told  you  in  my  letter  of  Frank's 


386  ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN. 

confession.,"  Roger  said,  and  Magdalen  replied,  "  Yes,  I  know 
better  now.  Everything  is  clear,  else  I  had  never  come  here 
to  bring  you  Millbank,  and  —  and,  myself,  if  you  will  take  me. 
Will  you,  Roger  ?  It  is  leap  year,  you  know.  I  have  a  right 
to  ask." 

She  spoke  playfully,  and  her  eyes  looked  straight  into  his  own, 
while  for  answer  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  forehead 
and  lips  and  hair,  and  she  felt  that  he  was  praying  silently  over  her, 
thanking  Heaven  for  this  precious  gift  which  had  come  to  him  at 
last.  Then  he  spoke  to  her  and  said,  "  I  take  you,  Magda,  will 
ingly,  gladly ;  oh  how  gladly  Heaven  only  knows,  and  as  I  cannot 
well  take  you  without  the  incumbrance  of  Millbank,  I  accept  that, 
too ;  and  darling,  though  this  may  not  be  the  time  to  say  it,  there 
has  already  been  so  much  of  business  and  money  and  lands 
mixed  up  with  our  love,  that  I  may,  I  am  sure,  tell  you  I  am 
able  of  myself  to  buy  the  mill  in  Belvidere  and  the  site  of  the 
old  shoe-shop.  Frank  wanted  me  to  do  it,  and  I  put  him  off 
with  saying  I  would  wait  until  I  knew  who  was  to  live  at  Mill- 
bank.  I  know  now,"  and  again  he  rained  his  kisses  upon  the 
face  of  her  who  was  to  be  his  wife  and  the  undisputed  mis 
tress,  as  he  was  the  master,  of  Millbank. 

A  long  time  they  talked  together  of  the  past,  which  now 
seemed  to  fade  away  so  fast  in  the  blissful  joy  of  the  present ; 
and  Magdalen  told  him  of  little  Roger  Irving,  whose  god 
mother  she  was,  and  of  her  mother  and  Alice,  and  the  home  at 
Beech  wood,  where  Guy  Seymour's  family  would  continue  to  live. 

"It's  the  same  house  my  father  built  for  Jessie,  —  for  your 
mother,"  Magdalen  said,  softly,  and  glanced  up  at  the  pic 
ture  on  the  wall,  whose  blue  eyes  seemed  to  look  down  in  bless 
ing  upon  this  pair  to  whom  the  world  was  opening  so  brightly. 

Then  they  talked  of  Frank  and  Bell  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott, 
and  by  that  time  the  summer  sun  was  low  in  the  western  hori 
zon,  and  Hester's  tea-table  was  spread  with  every  delicacy  the 
place  could  afford ;  while  Hester  herself  was  fine  and  grand  in 
her  second-best  black  silk,  which  nothing  less  than  Magdalen'i 
arrival  could  have  induced  her  o  wear  on  a  week-day. 


ROGER  AND  MAGDALEN.  387 

Guy,  too,  had  made  his  appearance  after  waiting  in  vain  foi 
Magdalen's  return.  Hester  remembered  him,  and  welcomed 
him  warmly,  and  told  him  "  the  young  folks  was  up  chamber, 
billin'  and  cooin'  like  two  turtle  doves,"  whereupon  Guy  began 
to  whistle  "  Highland  Mary,"  which  Magdalen  heard,  and  start 
ing  up,  exclaimed : 

"  There's  Guy  come  for  me  !  I  must  go  now  back  to  the 
hotel." 

But  she  did  not  go,  for  Roger  would  not  permit  it,  and  he 
kept  her  there  that  night,  and  the  next  day  took  her  to  his 
favorite  place  of  resort,  —  the  rock  under  the  pine,  —  and  seat 
ing  her  upon  the  mossy  bank  knelt  beside  her,  and  gave  thanks 
anew  to  Heaven,  who  had  heard  and  answered  the  prayer  made 
so  often  under  that  tasselled  pine,  —  that  if  it  were  right  Magda 
should  one  day  come  to  him  as  his.  Then  they  went  all  over 
the  farm  and  down  to  the  mill,  where  some  of  the  operatives 
who  had  lived  in  Belvidere  and  knew  Magdalen  came  to  speak 
with  her,  thus  raising  themselves  in  the  estimation  of  the  less 
favored  ones,  who  gazed  admiringly  at  the  beautiful  young  girl, 
rightly  guessing  the  relation  she  held  to  Mr.  Irving,  and  feeling 
glad  for  him. 

No  repairs  were  needed  at  Millbank,  and  but  few  changes ; 
so  that  the  house  was  ready  any  time  for  its  new  proprietors, 
but  Magdalen  would  not  consent  to  going  there  as  its  mistress 
until  September,  for  she  wanted  the  atmosphere  thoroughly 
cleared  from  the  taint  of  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  presence,  and 
it  would  take  more  than  a  few  weeks  for  that.  She  liked 
Bell  and  she  pitied  Frank ;  but  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  her 
special  aversion,  and  so  long  as  she  remained  at  Millbank, 
Magdalen  could  not  endure  even  to  cross  its  threshold.  Still 
it  seemed  necessary  that  she  should  do  so  before  her  return  to 
Beechwood,  and  on  the  morning  following  the  peaceful  Sunday 
spent  at  Schodick  she  returned  to  Belvidere,  which  by  this 
time  was  rife  with  the  conjectures  that  Roger  was  coming 
back  to  Millbank  and  Magdalen  vas  coming  with  him. 


388  MILLBANK  IS  CLEAR  OF  ITS  OLD   TENANTS 
CHAPTER  LV. 

MILLBANK    IS    CLEAR    OF   ITS    OLD    TENANTS. 

JHAT  afternoon  Magdalen  went  with  Guy  over  th« 
house,  where  she  was  met  by  Frank,  and  welcomed  as 
the  new  mistress.  Appropriating  her  at  once  to  him 
self,  Frank  led  her  from  room  to  room,  seeming  pleased  at 
her  commendations  of  the  taste  which  had  been  displayed  in 
the  selection  of  furniture  and  the  care  which  had  evidently 
been  given  to  everything. 

"It  was  Bell,"  Frank  said.  "She  is  a  good  housekeeper, 
and  after  the  split  with  mother  she  attended  to  things.  They 
had  separate  apartments,  you  know,  at  the  last;  —  didn't 
speak  a  word,  which  I  liked  better  than  a  confounded  quarrel. 
I  tell  you,  Magdalen,  I've  seen  sights  of  trouble  since  you 
found  that  will,  and  I  am  happier  to-day,  knowing  I've  got 
out  of  the  scrape,  than  I've  been  before  in  years." 

He  seemed  disposed  to  be  very  communicative,  and  was  go 
ing  on  to  speak  of  his  domestic  troubles ;  but  Magdalen  quietly 
checked  him,  and  then  asked  where  his  mother  was  intending 
to  go. 

"  The  mills  of  the  gods  grind  slowly,  but  fine,  exceedingly 
fine,"  Frank  said ;  and  then  he  told  of  his  mother's  fears  for 

her  money  deposited  in  the  bank  of .  There  was  a  rumor 

that  the  bank  had  failed,  but  as  it  was  only  a  rumor  he  still 
hoped  for  the  best 

"  At  the  first  alarm,  mother  went  to  bed,"  he  said,  "  and  she 
is  there  still ;  so  you  must  excuse  her  not  seeing  you." 

Magdalen  had  no  desire  to  see  her,  and  when  on  her  way  to 
Beechwood  she  read  in  the  paper  of  the  total  failure  of  the 
bank  where  Frank  had  told  her  his  mother's  money  was  de 
posited,  she  did  not  greatly  sympathize  with  the  artful,  design 
ing  woman,  who  almost  gnashed  her  teeth  when  she,  too,  heard 


MILLBANK  IS   CLEAR   OF  ITS  OLD    TENANTS.    389 

of  her  loss.  She  was  all  ready  for  removal  to  "  Rose  Cottage," 
for  which  a  friend  was  negotiating,  and  her  trunks  and  boxes 
were  packed  with  every  conceivable  valuable  which  could  by 
any  means  be  crowded  into  them  •  oil  paintings,  chromos,  steel 
engravings,  costly  vases,  exquisite  shells,  knives,  forks,  spoons, 
china,  cut  glass,  table  linen,  bed  linen,  and  even  carpets  formed 
a  part  of  her  spoil,  intended  for  that  cottage,  which  now  was 
not  within  her  reach.  There  was  still  her  oil  stock  left,  and 
with  that  she  might  manage  to  live  respectably,  she  thought, 
and  resolving  that  no  one  should  exult  over  her  disappoint 
ment  from  any  change  they  saw  in  her,  she  tried  to  appear 
natural,  and  when  an  attempt  was  made  at  sympathy,  answered 
indifferently  "  that  she  was  sorry,  of  course,  as  she  could  have 
done  so  much  good  with  the  money ;  but  the  Lord  knew  what 
was  best,  and  she  must  bear  patiently  what  was  sent  upon  her." 
This  was  what  she  said  to  her  clergyman,  who  came  to  sympa 
thize  with  her ;  but  when  he  was  gone,  she  looked  the  house 
over  again,  to  see  if  there  was  anything  more  which  she  could 
take,  and  in  case  of  necessity  turn  into  money.  Some  one  in 
Belvidere  wrote  to  Roger  that  the  house  at  Millbank  was  being 
robbed,  and  advised  strongly  that  means  be  taken  to  prevent 
further  depredations ;  and  a  few  days  after  Mrs.  Walter  Scott 
was  met  in  the  hall  by  a  stern-looking  man,  who  said  he  came, 
at  Mr.  Irving' s  request,  to  take  an  inventory  of  all  the  articles 
of  furniture  in  the  house,  and  also  to  remain  there  and  see  that 
nothing  was  harmed  or  removed. 

He  laid  great  stress  on  the  last  word,  and  the  lady  grew  hot 
and  red,  and  felt  that  she  was  suspected  and  looked  upon  as  a 
thief,  and  resented  it  accordingly ;  but  after  that  there  was  no 
more  hiding  of  articles  under  lock  and  key,  for  the  stranger 
always  seemed  to  be  present,  and  she  knew  that  she  was 
watched  ;  and  when  he  inquired  for  a  small  and  expensive  oil 
painting  which  Roger  had  bought  in  Rome,  and  an  exquisite 
French  chromo,  and  certain  pieces  of  silver  and  cut  glass 
which  he  had  on  his  list  as  forming  a  part  of  the  household 
goods  he  was  appointed  to  care  for,  she  found  them  and  gave 


390    MILLBANK  IS   CLEAR   OF  ITS  OLD    TENANTS. 

them,  one  by  one,  into  his  hands.  And  so  her  stock  of  goods 
diminished  and  she  hastened  to  get  away  before  everything  was 
taken  from  her ;  and  one  morning  in  August  finally  departed 
for  a  boarding-house  in  New  York,  where  she  intended  staying 
until  something  better  offered. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  a  bevy  of  servants  came  out  from 
Beechwood,  and  Roger  came  from  Schodick  to  superintend 
them,  and  old  Hester  came  to  oversee  him,  and  the  renovating 
process  went  rapidly  on,  while  crowds  of  the  villagers  flocked 
to  the  house,  curious  to  see  the  costly  articles  of  furniture 
which,  during  the  last  few  years,  had  been  constantly  arriving, 
and  of  which  the  house  was  full  to  overflowing. 

The  mill  was  Roger's  now,  as  well  as  the  site  of  the  old  shoe- 
shop.  He  had  bought  them  both  on  the  day  of  their  sale,  and 
the  operatives  of  the  mill  had  hurrahed  with  might  and  main 
for  their  new  master,  never  heeding  the  old  one,  who  still  re 
mained  in  town,  and  who,  whatever  he  might  have  felt,  put  a 
good  face  on  the  matter,  and  seemed  as  glad  and  as  interested 
as  the  foremost  of  them.  Only  once  did  he  manifest  the  slight 
est  feeling,  and  that  was  when  with  Roger  he  entered  Bell's 
sleeping-room,  where  the  silken  curtains  were  hanging  and  the 
many  expensive  articles  of  the  toilet  were  still  lying  as  Bell  had 
left  them.  Then  sitting  down  by  the  window,  he  cried  ;  and, 
when  Roger  looked  at  him  questioningly,  he  told  of  his  little  boy 
born  in  that  room,  and  dead  before  it  was  born. 

"Bell  was  glad,  he  said,  — she  does  not  like  children  ;  but  I 
was  so  sorry,  for  if  that  boy  had  lived  I  should  have  been  a 
better  man ;  but  it  died,  and  Bell  has  left  me,  and  mother's 
gone,  and  my  money's  gone,  and  I  am  a  used-up  dog  gener 
ally,"  he  added  bitterly  ;  and  then  with  a  sudden  dashing  away 
of  his  tears  he  brightened  into  his  former  self,  and  said,  laugh 
ingly,  "But  what's  the  use  of  fretting?  I  shall  get  along  some 
way.  I  always  have,  you  know." 

In  his  heart  he  knew  Roger  would  not  let  him  suffer,  and 
when  Roger  said  as  much  by  way  of  comforting  him,  he  took 


THE  BRIDAL.  391 

it  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  secretly  hoped  "  the  governor 
would  give  him  something  handsome,  and  let  him  keep  a 
horse!" 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

THE   BRIDAL. 

|ILLBANK  was  ready  at  last  for  its  new  mistress.  But 
few  changes  had  been  made,  and  these  in  the  library 
and  the  suite  of  rooms  set  apart  for  the  bride.  Her 
tastes  were  simpler  than  Bell's,  and  some  of  the  gorgeous  trap 
pings  had  been  removed  and  soberer  ones  put  in  their  place. 
The  house  at  Schodick  had  been  despoiled  of  a  portion  of  its 
furniture,  which  now  formed  a  part  of  Millbank;  Jessie's  pic 
ture  and  the  candle-box  cradle  were  both  brought  back,  and 
Hester  had  the  little  quilt  safe  in  her  trunk,  and  had  bought  a 
new  gray  satin  dress  for  the  wedding  party  to  be  given  at  Mill- 
bank,  September  i5th,  the  day  after  the  bridal.  The  idea  of 
gray  satin  Hester  had  gotten  from  Mrs.  Penelope  Seymour,  who 
came  to  Millbank  to  see  that  everything  was  as  it  should  be  for 
the  reception  of  her  niece.  She  had  stayed  three  days  and 
nights,  and  Hester  had  admired  her  greatly  and  copied  her 
dress,  and  had  it  made  in  Springfield,  and  fitted  over  hoops  and 
cotton,  and  then  tried  to  fix  up  Aleck  into  something  a  little 
more  modern.  But  Aleck  was  incorrigible,  and  would  wear 
his  short  pants  and  cowhide  shoes  tied  with  leather  strings, 
and  so  she  gave  him  up,  and  comforted  herself  with  the  fact 
that  he  stayed  mostly  in  his  room,  and  would  not  run  much 
risk  of  being  laughed  at  by  the  "grandees"  expected  with 
the  bridal  party  from  New  York. 

Roger  had  already  gone  to  Beechwood,  where  Magdalen  was 
waiting  for  him.     It  was  his  first  visit  there,  and  there  were 


39-2  THE  BRIDAL. 

strange  thoughts  crowding  upon  his  mind  as  he  rode  up 
the  mountain  side  toward  the  house  which  had  been  built 
for  his  mother,  and  whither  she  once  hoped  to  come  as  a 
bride.  Now  she  was  dead,  her  grave  the  ocean  bed,  her  shroud 
the  ocean  grass,  and  he,  her  son,  was  going  for  his  bride,  the 
daughter  of  Arthur  Grey.  "  Surely  the  ways  of  Providence  are 
inscrutable  ;  who  can  know  them?"  he  said,  just  as  a  turn  in 
the  road  brought  the  house  and  grounds  fully  into  view,  togethei 
with  Magdalen,  who,  in  her  evening  dress  of  white,  was  standing 
on  the  piazza,  her  face  glowing  with  health  and  beauty  and 
eager  expectation.  Very  joyfully  she  received  him,  and  leading 
him  into  the  house  presented  him  to  Alice  and  her  aunt,  and 
then  went  for  her  little  nephew,  whom  she  brought  to  his 
"  Uncle  Roger." 

They  were  a  very  merry  party  at  Beechwood  that  night,  and 
not  a  shadow  rested  on  the  hearts  of  any  one.  It  was  better 
that  Laura  should  be  gone,  better  for  her,  better  for  them  ail ; 
and  when  Magdalen  saw  how  white  Roger  turned  at  the  sight 
of  her  father's  picture,  she  felt  that  it  was  well  perhaps  that  he, 
too,  was  dead,  for  the  two  men  could  not  have  been  wholly  con 
genial  to  each  other.  The  bridal  was  the  next  day  but  one,  and 
Magdalen  in  her  plain  travelling  dress  was  very  beautiful,  as 
she  pledged  herself  to  the  man  whose  face  wore  a  look  of  per 
fect  peace  and  thankfulness  as  he  clasped  her  hand  and  knew 
it  was  his  forever.  He  made  no  demonstrations  before  the 
people,  but  when  for  a  moment  they  were  alone,  as  she  went 
up  for  her  hat  and  shawl,  he  opened  his  arms  to  her,  and  clasp 
ing  her  tightly  to  his  bosom,  showered  his  kisses  upon  her  face 
and  hands  and  hair,  and  called  her  his  precious  wife,  his 
darling,  won  at  last  after  many  years  of  sorrow. 

They  went  to  New  York  that  night,  and  the  next  day  arrived 
at  Millbank,  with  Mrs.  Seymour,  Guy,  and  Alice,  and  a  few 
friends,  the  Dagons  and  Draggons,  whose  quiet,  unostentatious 
elegance  of  manner  created  quite  as  great  a  sensation  as  Mrs 
Walter  Scott's  more  showy  guests  had  done  when  her  son  was 


THE  BRIDAL.  393 

the  groom  and  Bell  Burleigh  the  bride.  Roger  had  given  his 
men  a  holiday,  and  had  ordered  a  dinner  for  them  upon  the 
Millbank  grounds,  but  he  had  not  hinted  at  a  demonstration 
or  bonfire,  and  was  surprised  when  the  New  York  train  came 
r;jtind  the  bend  in  the  meadow  to  see  the  crowds  and  crowds 
uf  people  assembled  before  the  depot,  some  on  the  fence,  some 
on  the  woodpile,  some  on  the  platform,  and  all  glad  and  excited 
and  eager  to  see  him.  The  Belvidere  Band  was  there  also,  and 
preceded  the  carriage  up  to  the  house,  which  had  never  seemed 
so  pleasant  and  desirable  to  Roger  as  now,  when  he  came  back 
to  it  with  Magdalen,  and  felt  that  both  were  his  beyond  a  possi 
bility  of  doubt.  Old  Hester  received  them,  and  no  one  but 
herself  was  allowed  to  remove  the  bride's  wrappings,  or  conduct 
her  to  her  room.  Hester  was  in  her  element,  and  Mrs.  Walter 
Scott  never  bore  herself  more  proudly  than  did  the  old  lady  on 
that  eventful  day,  when  she  seemed  suddenly  to  have  grown 
young  again,  and  to  be  in  every  place  at  once,  her  cap-strings 
flying  behind  her,  and  her  black  silk  pinned  about  her  waist. 
The  gray  was  reserved  for  the  evening,  when,  instead  of  a 
party  proper,  to  which  a  few  were  bidden,  a  general  reception 
was  held,  which  all  were  welcome  to  attend.  There  was  a  great 
crowd,  for  rich  and  poor,  old  and  young,  plebeian  and  aristocrat, 
came  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  newly  married  pair ;  but  not 
a  rude  thing  was  done,  or  a  rough  word  spoken  by  any  one. 
Roger,  himself,  did  not  know  them  all,  and  Magdalen  only  a 
few;  but  her  greeting  was  just  as  cordial  to  one  as  to  another. 
Her  travelling-dress  had  been  very  plain,  but  this  evening  she 
was  radiant  in  white  satin  and  lace  and  pearls,  with  the  bridal 
veil  floating  back  from  her  head,  and  the  orange  wreath  crown 
ing  her  shining  hair  ;  and  those  who  had  never  seen  such  dress 
and  style  before  held  their  breath  in  wonder,  and  for  months 
after  talked  with  pride  of  the  night  when  all  the  town  was  per 
mitted  to  see  and  shake  hands  with  the  sweet  lady  of  Millbank, 
Mrs.  Roger  Irving.  Roger  had  forbidden  a  bonfire,  but  there 
were  lanterns  hung  in  the  trees  all  over  the  grounds,  and  the 

17* 


394  THE  BRIDAL. 

young  people  danced  there  upon  the  floor  which  had  been  tem 
porarily  laid  down,  until  midnight  was  passed,  and  the  moon  was 
so  high  in  the  horizon  that  the  glare  of  lamps  was  no  longei 
needed  to  light  up  the  festal  scene. 

Mrs.  Franklin  Irving  had  been  invited  to  be  present,  but 
she  wisely  declined,  and  sent  instead  a  most  exquisite  ring  to 
Magdalen,  who  let  Frank  put  it  upon  her  finger  and  kiss  her  hand 
as  he  did  so,  a  privilege  he  claimed  because  the  ring  was  said 
to  be  his  gift  and  Bell's.  His  wife  had  conceded  so  much  to  him, 
though  Frank  had  known  nothing  of  the  ring  until  he  saw  it  in  its 
velvet  box  on  his  wife's  bureau.  Unlike  her,  he  had  no  feelings 
of  delicacy  to  prevent  his  being  present  at  Roger's  bridal  party. 
With  no  business  on  his  hands,  and  nothing  to  expect  from  his 
wife  besides  his  board,  he  was  quite  as  willing  to  stay  at  Mill- 
bank  as  in  Boston,  and  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  he 
was  welcome  there.  And  nobody  cared  much  about  his  move 
ments  except  Hester,  who  wondered  "  Why  the  lazy  lout  didn't 
go  to  work  and  earn  his  own  vittles,  instead  of  hangin'  on  to 
Roger.  She  vummed  if  she'd  stan'  it  much  longer.  She'd  set 
him  to  work  if  Roger  didn't." 

And  so  as  time  went  on  and  Frank  still  lingered  about  the 
place,  Hester  gradually  impressed  him  into  her  service,  and 
made  him  do  some  of  the  things  which  Aleck  once  had  done 
and  which  he  was  unable  to  do  now.  Sometimes  he  brought 
water  for  her,  or  split  her  kindlings,  or  went  to  the  village  on 
an  errand,  and  did  it  willingly,  too,  though  he  always  wore  his 
gloves,  and  generally  carried  his  cane  and  eye-glass,  which  last 
article  he  had  of  late  adopted.  It  was  Magdalen  who  finally 
interfered  and  stood  between  Hester  and  Frank,  and  said  he 
was  welcome  to  remain  at  Millbank  as  long  as  he  chose,  and 
that  if  Hester  had  not  servants  enough  another  should  be  pro 
cured  at  once.  This  was  the  first  and  only  time  that  Magdalen 
asserted  her  right  as  mistress  in  opposition  to  old  Hester,  who 
submitted  without  a  word  and  ever  after  left  Frank  in  peace. 

September  passed  quickly,  and  in  the  late  October  days, 
when  the  New  England  woods  were  gorgeous  with  crimson 


CHRISTMAS-TIDE.  395 

and  gold,  and  Millbank  was  still  beautiful  with  its  autumn 
flowers,  Mrs.  Franklin  Irving  came  up  to  visit  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Roger,  and  was  received  by  them  with  all  the  cordiality  due 
so  near  a  relative.  Not  by  a  word  or  look  did  she  betray 
the  slightest  regret  for  the  past,  when  she  had  been  mistress 
where  she  was  now  only  a  guest.  Millbank  was  to  her  as  any 
stranger's  house,  and  she  bore  herself  naturally  and  pleasantly, 
and  made  herself  very  agreeable  to  Roger,  and  devoted  herself 
to  Magdalen,  whom  she  liked  so  much,  and  was  civil  and  almost 
kind  to  her  husband,  who  was  still  there,  and  as  Hester  said, 
"just  as  shiftless  as  ever." 

Bell  saw  the  state  of  affairs,  and  while  she  despised  her  hus 
band  more  than  ever  for  his  indolence  and  lack  of  sensibility, 
she  resolved  to  give  Magdalen  a  rest,  and  leave  her  alone  with 
Roger  for  a  time  ;  so  when  in  November  she  returned  to  Bos 
ton,  she  invited  Frank  to  go  with  her,  and  secured  him  a  place  as 
book-keeper  in  a  merchant's  counting-house,  and  stimulated 
perhaps  by  the  perfect  happiness  and  confidence  she  had  seen 
existing  between  Roger  and  Magdalen,  tried  by  being  kind  and 
even  deferential  to  him  to  mould  him  into  something  of  which 
she  would  not  be  so  terribly  ashamed  as  she  was  now  of  the  care 
less,  shambling,  listless,  lazy  man,  whom  everybody  knew  as  Mrs. 
Franklin  Irving' s  husband. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

jjT  was  the  second  Christmas  after  Magdalen's  bridal, 
and  fires  were  kindled  in  all  the  rooms  at  Millbank, 
and  pantries  and  closets  groaned  with  their  loads  and, 
loads  of  eatables ;  and  Hester  Floyd  bustled  about,  important 
as  ever,  ordering  everybody  except  the  nurse  who  had  come 


396  CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

with  Mrs.  Guy  Seymour  and  her  baby,  the  little  four-months- 
old  girl,  whose  name  was  Laura  Magdalen,  and  who,  with  hel 
warm  milk  and  cold  milk,  and  numerous  paraphernalia  of  baby 
hood,  kept  the  kitchen  a  good  deal  stirred  up,  and  made  Hester 
chafe  a  little  inwardly.  But,  then,  she  said  "  she  s'posed  she 
must  get  used  to  these  things,"  and  her  face  cleared  up,  and 
her  manner  was  very  soft  and  gentle  every  time  she  thought  of 
the  crib  in  Magdalen's  room,  where,  under  the  identical  quilt 
the  poor  heathen  would  never  receive,  slumbered  another  baby 
girl,  Magdalen's  and  Roger's,  which  had  come  to  Millbank 
about  six  weeks  before,  and  over  whose  birth  great  rejoicings 
were  made.  Jessie  Morton  was  its  name,  and  Guy  and  Alice 
had  stood  for  it  the  Sunday  before,  and  with  Aunt  Pen  were 
to  remain  at  Millbank  through  the  holidays,  and  help  Magdalen 
to  entertain  the  few  friends  invited  to  pass  the  week  under 
Roger's  hospitable  roof. 

The  world  had  gone  well  with  Roger  since  he  came  back  to 
Millbank.  Everything  had  prospered  with  which  he  had  any 
thing  to  do.  The  shoe-shop  had  been  rebuilt,  and  the  mill  was 
never  more  prosperous,  and  Roger  bade  fair  soon  to  be  as  rich  a 
man  as  he  had  supposed  himself  to  be  before  the  will  was  found. 
On  his  domestic  horizon  no  cloud,  however  small,  had  ever 
rested.  Magdalen  was  his  all-in-all,  his  choicest  treasure,  for 
which  he  daily  thanked  Heaven  more  fervently  than  for  all  his 
other  blessings  combined.  And,  amid  his  prosperity,  Roger 
did  not  forget  to  render  back  to  Heaven  a  generous  portion  of 
his  gifts,  and  many  and  many  a  sad  heart  was  made  glad,  and 
many  a  poor  church  and  clergyman  were  helped,  quietly,  unos 
tentatiously,  and  oftentimes  so  secretly  that  they  knew  not 
whence  came  the  aid,  but  for  which  they  might  have  given  up 
in  utter  despair  and  hopelessness. 

Magdalen  approved  and  assisted  in  all  her  husband's  char 
ities,  and  her  heart  went  out  after  the  sad,  sorrowful  ones,  with 
a  yearning  desire  to  make  them  as  happy  as  herself.  Especially 
was  this  the  case  that  Christmas  time,  when  to  all  her  othei 


CHRISTMAS-TIDE.  397 

blessings  a  baby  had  been  added,  and  she  made  it  a  season  foi 
extra  gifts  to  the  poor  and  needy  who,  through  all  the  long 
winter,  would  be  more  comfortable  because  of  her  generous 
remembrance. 

When  the  list  of  guests  to  be  invited  for  the  holidays  was 
being  made  out,  she  sat  for  a  moment  by  Roger's  side,  with 
her  eyes  fixed  musingly  on  the  bright  fire  in  the  grate.-  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Franklin  Irving' s  names  were  on  the  list,  with  that  of 
Grace  and  the  young  clergyman  to  whom  she  was  engaged, 
and  Roger  waited  for  Magdalen  to  say  if  there  was  any  one 
else  whom  she  would  have. 

"Yes,  Roger,  there  is.  Perhaps  you  won't  approve,  but  I 
should  like  to  ask  Mrs.  Walter  Scott,  if  you  don't  object  too 
much.  She  has  a  dreary  time  at  best,  and  this  will  be  a  change. 
She  may  not  come,  it's  true ;  but  she  will  be  pleased  to  know 
we  remember  her." 

Roger  had  entertained  the  same  thought,  but  refrained  from 
giving  expression  to  it  from  a  fear  lest  Magdalen  would  not 
like  itr  and  so  that  day  a  cordial  invitation  to  pass  the  holidays 
at  Millbank  was  forwarded  to  the  boarding-house  in  New  York 
which  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  was  actually  keeping  as  a  means  of 
support.  Her  oil  had  failed,  as  well  as  the  bank  which  held 
her  money.  "  There  might  be  something  for  her  some  time, 
perhaps,  but  there  was  nothing  now,"  was  the  report  of  the 
lawyer  employed  to  investigate  the  matter,  and  then  she  began 
to  realize  how  utterly  destitute  she  was.  Frank  could  not  help 
her,  and  as  she,  was  too  proud  to  ask  help  of  Roger,  she  finally 
did  what  so  many  poor,  discouraged  women  do,  opened  a 
boarding-house  in  a  part  of  the  city  where  she  would  not  be 
likely  to  meet  any  of  her  former  friends,  and  there,  in  dull, 
dingy  rooms,  with  forlorn,  half-worn  furniture  and  faded  drap 
ery,  all  relics  like  herself  of  former  splendors,  she  tried  to  earn 
her  living.  The  goods  which  she  managed  to  smuggle  away 
from  Millbank  served  her  a  good  turn  now,  and  pawnbrokers 
and  buyers  of  old  silver  and  pictures  soon  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  the  tall  lady  with  light  hair  and  traces  of  great  beauty, 


CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

who  came  so  «ften  to  their  shops,  and  seemed  so  sad  and  deso 
late.  Roger  and  Magdalen  had  been  to  see  her  once,  and 
Frank  had  been  many  times  ;  but  Bell  never  deigned  to  notice 
her,  though  she  was  frequently  in  New  York,  and  once  drove 
past  the  boarding-house  in  a  stylish  carriage  with  her  velvets 
and  ermine  around  her.  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  did  not  see  her, 
and  so  that  pang  was  spared  her.  She  had  finished  her  book, 
but  the  publishers  one  and  all  showed  a  strange  obtuseness 
with  regard  to  its  worth,  and  it  was  put  away  in  her  trunk, 
where  others  thing  pertaining  to  the  past  were  buried. 

The  invitation  from  Millbank  took  her  by  surprise  and  made 
her  cry  a  little,  but  she  hastened  to  accept  it,  and  was  there 
before  her  daughter-in-law,  and  an  occupant  of  her  former 
room.  She  was  old  and  broken,  and  faded,  and  poor,  and 
seemed  very  quiet,  and  very  fond  of  Magdalen's  baby,  which 
she  kept  a  great  deal  in  her  room,  calling  herself  its  grandma, 
and  thinking,  perhaps,  of  another  little  one  whose  loss  no  one 
had  regretted  save  Frank,  the  father.  He  came  at  last  with 
Bell,  who  was  very  polite  and  gracious  to  her  mother-in-law, 
whom  she  had  not  expected  to  meet. 

"  Of  course  I  am  sorry  for  her,"  she  said  to  Magdalen,  who 
was  one  day  talking  of  her,  and  wishing  something  might  be 
done  to  better  her  condition.  "  But  what  can  I  do.  She 
refuses  to  receive  money  from  me,  and  as  for  having  her  in  my 
house  no  power  on  earth  could  induce  me  to  do  that." 

Alas !  for  Bell.  Man  proposes,  but  God  disposes,  and  the 
thing  which  no  power  on  earth  could  induce  her  to  do  was  to 
be  forced  upon  her  whether  she  would  have  it  or  not. 

The  Christmas  dinner  was  a  sumptuous  one,  and  after  it  was 
over  the  guests  repaired  to  the  parlors,  where  music  and  a  little 
dance  formed  a  part  of  the  evening's  entertainment.  Mrs. 
Walter  Scott  was  playing  for  the  dance.  Her  fingers  had  not 
yet  forgotten  their  skill,  and  she  had  good-naturedly  offered  to 
take  the  place  of  Grace  Burleigh,  who  gave  up  the  more  will 
ingly  because  of  the  young  clergyman  looking  over  a  book  of 
engravings  and  casting  wistful  glances  toward  her.  Whether  it 


CHRISTMAS-TIDE.  399 

was  the  dinner,  or  the  excitement,  or  a  combination  of  both, 
none  could  tell,  but  there  was  suddenly  a  cessation  of  the 
music,  a  crash  among  the  keys,  and  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  turned 
toward  the  astonished  dancers  a  face  which  frightened  them,  it 
was  so  white,  so  strange,  and  so  distorted.  Paralysis  of  one 
entire  side  was  the  verdict  of  the  physician  who  was  summoned 
immediately  and  did  all  he  could  for  the  stricken  woman,  from 
one-half  of  whose  body  the  sense  of  feeling  was  gone,  and  who 
lay  in  her  room  as  helpless  as  a  child.  Gradually  her  face 
began  to  look  more  natural,  her  speech  came  back  again,  thick 
and  stammering,  but  tolerably  intelligible,  and  her  limp  right 
hand  moved  feebly,  showing  that  she  was  in  part  recovering. 
For  three  weeks  they  nursed  her  with  the  utmost  care,  and 
Bell  stayed  by  and  shrank  from  the  future  which  she  saw  before 
her,  and  from  which  she  wished  so  much  to  escape.  In  her 
womanly  pity  and  sympathy  Magdalen  would  have  kept  the 
paralytic  woman  at  Millbank,  but  Roger  was  not  willing  that 
her  young  life  should  be  burdened  in  this  way,  and  he  said  to 
Frank  and  Bell : 

"  Your  mother's  place  is  with  her  children.  If  you  are  not 
able  to  take  care  of  her,  I  am  willing  to  help ;  but  I  cannot 
suffer  Magdalen  to  take  that  load  of  care." 

So  it  was  settled,  and  Bell  went  home  to  Boston  and  prepared 
an  upper  room,  which  overlooked  the  Common,  and  then  came 
back  to  Millbank,  where  they  made  the  invalid  ready  for  the 
journey.  Her  face  was  very  white  and  there  was  a  look  of 
dreary  despair  and  dread  in  her  eyes,  but  she  uttered  no  word 
of  protest  against  the  plan,  and  thanked  Roger  for  his  kindness, 
and  kissed  the  little  Jessie  and  cried  softly  over  her,  and  whis 
pered  to  Magdalen  :  "  Come  and  see  me  often.  It  is  the  only 
pleasant  thing  I  can  look  forward  too." 

And  then  Frank  and  Roger  carried  her  out  to  the  carriage 
which  took  her  to  the  cars,  and  that  night  she  heard  the  winter 
wind  howl  around  the  winddws  of  the  room  to  which  she  felt 
that  she  was  doomed  for  life,  and  which,  taking  that  view  of  it 
seemed  to  her  like  a  prison. 


4OO  CHRIS  TMAS-  TIDE. 

"  The  Lord  is  sure  to  remember  first  or  last,"  old  Hester  said, 
as  she  watched  the  carriage  moving  slowly  down  the  avenue, 
"  and  though  I  can't  say  I  would  have  given  her  the  shakin' 
palsy  if  I'd  of  been  the  Lord,  I  know  it's  right  and  just,  and  a 
warnin'  to  all  liars  and  deceitful,  snoopin'  critters." 

Still  Hester  was  sorry  for  the  woman,  and  went  to  see  her 
almost  as  often  as  Magdalen  herself,  and  once  stayed  three 
whole  weeks,  and  took  care  of  her  when  Mrs.  Franklin  was 
away.  Bell  did  not  trouble  herself  very  much  about  her  mother- 
in-law,  or  spend  much  time  with  her.  She  gave  orders  that  she 
should  be  well  cared  for  and  have  everything  she  wished  for, 
and  she  saw  that  her  orders  were  obeyed.  She  also  went  once 
a  day  to  see  her  and  ask  if  she  was  comfortable  ;  but  after  that 
she  felt  that  nothing  further  was  incumbent  upon  her.  And  so 
for  all  Mrs.  Walter  Scott  knew  of  the  outer  world  and  the  life 
she  had  once  enjoyed  so  much,  she  was  indebted  to  Grace, 
who  before  her  marriage  passed  many  hours  with  the  invalid, 
telling  her  of  things  which  she  thought  would  interest  her,  and 
sometimes  reading  to  her  until  she  fell  asleep.  But  after  Grace 
was  gone  Mrs.  Walter  Scott's  days  passed  in  dreary  loneliness 
and  wretched  discontent.  She  had  no  pleasure  in  recalling  the 
past,  and  nothing  to  look  forward  to  in  the  future.  The  remain 
der  of  her  wretched  life  she  knew  must  be  passed  where  she 
was  not  wanted,  and  where  her  son  came  but  once  a  day  to  see 
her  and  that  in  the  evening  just  after  dinner,  when  he  usually 
fell  asleep  while  she  was  trying  to  talk  to  him. 

Bell  would  not  suffer  Frank  to  go  into  the  city  evenings  unless 
she  accompanied  him,  for  she  had  no  fancy  for  having  him 
brought  to  her  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  as  was  once  the  case. 
And  Frank,  who  was  a  good  deal  afraid  of  her,  remained  obe 
diently  at  home,  and,  preferring  his  mother's  society  to  that  of 
his  wife,  stayed  in  the  sick  room  a  portion  of  every  evening; 
then,  when  wholly  wearied  there,  went  to  his  own  apartment 
and  smoked  in  dreary  solitude  until  midnight. 

Such  was  Frank's  life  and  such  the  life  of  his  mother,  until 
there  came  to  her  a  change  in  the  form  of  a  second  shock, 


CHRISTMAS-  TIDE.  40 1 

which  rendered  one  hand  and  foot  entirely  helpless,  and  distorted 
her  features  so  badly  that  she  insisted  that  the  blinds  should  be 
kept  closed  and  the  curtains  down,  so  that  those  who  came 
into  her  room  could  not  see  how  disfigured  she  was.  And  so 
in  darkness  and  solitude  her  days  pass  drearily,  with  impatient 
longings  for  the  night,  and  when  the  night  comes  she  moans 
and  weeps,  and  wishes  it  was  morning.  Poor  woman  !  She  is 
a  burden  to  herself  and  a  terrible  skeleton  to  her  fashionable 
daughter-in-law,  who  in  the  gayest  scenes  in  which  she  mingles 
never  long  forgets  the  paralytic  at  home,  sinking  so  fast  into 
utter  imbecility,  and  as  she  becomes  more  and  more  childish 
and  helpless,  requiring  more  and  more  care^and  attention. 

The  curse  of  wrong-doing  is  resting  on  Bell  as  well  as  on  her 
husband  and  his  mother,  and  though  she  is  proud  and  haughty 
and  reserved  as  ever,  she  is  far  from  being  happy,  and  her 
friends  say  to  each  other  that  she  is  growing  old  and  losing  her 
brilliant  beauty.  Frank  often  tells  her  of  it  when  he  has  been 
drinking  wine.  He  is  not  afraid  of  her  then,  and  after  he 
found  that  it  annoyed  her  he  delighted  to  tease  her  about  her 
fading  beauty,  and  to  ask  why  she  could  not  keep  as  young 
and  fresh  and  handsome  as  Magdalen.  There  was  not  a 
wrinkle  in  her  face,  he  said,  and  she  looked  younger  and  hand 
somer  than  when  he  first  came  home  from  Europe  and  saw  her 
at  the  Exhibition. 

And  well  might  Magdalen  retain  her  girlish  beauty,  for  if 
ever  the  fountain  of  youth  existed  anywhere  it  was  in  her  home 
at  Miilbank.  Exceedingly  popular  with  the  villagers,  idolized 
by  her  husband,  perfectly  happy  in  her  baby,  surrounded  by 
2very  luxury  which  wealth  can  furnish  and  every  care  lifted 
from  her  by  old  Hester's  thoughtfulness,  there  has  as  yet  been 
no  shadow,  however  small,  upon  her  married  life,  and  her  face 
is  as  fair  and  beautiful,  and  her  voice  as  full  of  glee  as  when  she 
sat  with  Roger  by  the  river  side  and  felt  the  first  awakenings  of 
the  love  which  has  since  grown  to  be  her  life. 

And  now  we  say  farewell  to  Miilbank,  knowing  that  when 
sorrow  comes  to  its  inmates,  as  it  must  some  day  come,  it  will 


402  CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 

not  be  such  a  sorrow  as  enshrouds  that  gloomy  house  in  Boston, 
for  there  is  perfect  love  and  faith  between  the  husband  and  the 
wife,  with  no  sad,  dreary  retrospects  of  wrong  to  make  thfl 
present  unendurable. 


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